


Spellbound

by stellaseas



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Azriel/OC - Freeform, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, after acowar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaseas/pseuds/stellaseas
Summary: After learning the truth of Mor's feelings towards him, Azriel has a chance encounter with a cursed human girl and strikes up an unexpected friendship. Eventual Azriel x OC. Takes place after the events of ACOWAR.
Relationships: Azriel (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s), Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 65
Kudos: 214





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I thought I would try my hand at this after reading ACOWAR. As Sarah was inspired by Beauty and the Beast, this story will be inspired by Cinderella a bit. It's fun to write a fairytale and stray from "reality" a bit. SPOILERS for ACOWAR. This story is also posted on my ff account, but I've been encouraged to post here too! Thank you for reading.

**Introduction**

Silence. That was what he needed.

Even now, in times of peace, Azriel's head was always full. Swimming with secrets and whispers, bits of conversations he was never meant to overhear. But there was always one voice that sounded louder than all the others in times of peace and war and whatever this uneasy truce was. Mor's voice. Revealing a deep truth, one she had kept hidden for centuries. He had listened, stone faced and numb, as she recounted to him their shared history from her perspective. Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, spilling down her cheeks causing him to look away. He hated it. Seeing her so distraught. Hated thinking that _he_ had everything to do with it. She lamented not telling him sooner. Admitted that she had told Feyre everything and that the reaction of their High Lady had given her hope. Hope that he too would understand.

 _Of course_ he would understand. For decades he had loved her. Her light and her laughter had pulled him from the abyss time and again. She had seen him, sensed his every turn and tumble. And cared for him, even when he had not the strength to care for himself. She was the first female to see past his scars. The first he had truly cared for. Prayed for and anguished over.

Some part of him had known. There was always a barrier between them, paper thin and invisible yet still tangible. 

When she had finished, he wasn't sure what to say. Or what to do. He felt himself nod. Felt himself reach for her hand and squeeze it.

He had said something to her, but he couldn't remember what. So many words were flitting around in his head. So many questions. And fears. She had embraced him then, held him close for what was likely the last time. The last time, at least, that would give him cause to hope. 

Bleary eyed and woozy, head and heart heavy, he had dismissed himself from the room. From the townhouse. From the city. To seek out silence.

There was a clearing, deep in the forest's of Prythian, riding the borders between the courts of Spring and Autumn and the human lands. He had become intimately familiar with the Southern lands during the lead up to the war. Rather than send any of his men, he chose to navigate the treacherous assignments himself and risk capture. In that time, he had stumbled upon the clearing, nestled above the foothills of the mountain chain that made up the majority of the border between the bickering courts. Surrounded by rock and thick foliage, with unparalleled views, Azriel was certain no one else had penetrated it. It was the one place in the world where he could be totally alone.

He chose to fly instead of winnow, relishing the torrent of wind that enveloped his senses and chased away his thoughts. Once he landed, he abandoned whatever leash he had managed to keep on himself. Swirls of shadows, black as night leaked from him like a rush of waves on an unsuspecting shore. He thought he heard himself cry out.

Foolish. That's what he had been. The truth had been there, but he had been too foolish (and selfish) to really see it. Too content to live in the teetering realm of possibility. He let himself believe that in the end, she would come to him. Love him as he loved her. He wasn't angry with her, but with himself. His denial, his naïveté had been the cause of so much pain and longing. His willingness to hope, even in the wake of her gentle dismissals. Each one of them, spanning decades, accosted him now; sending pangs of self-loathing through him. If he had only the courage to address it long ago...perhaps they would both be happy now. Like Rhys and Feyre.

Loneliness shot through his chest, the pain of it cleaving through him like an ash arrow. He loved his High Lord and Lady. But their happiness was so great, so complete..sometimes he couldn't stand it. For years he had Cassian at his side, the two of them alone together. With Rhys. But now...Rhys was married and mated. And Cassian...Well, Azriel couldn't understand what it was he had with the spiteful, bristling Nesta Archeron. But it wasn't unrequited. Someday, they would both realize the extent of their feelings and act upon them. And Azriel...he would be…

Azriel dropped to his knees, heaving in air as shame and lamentations overwhelmed his system. He had to get it out now. If Mor had seen him this way, if she knew what he was succumbing to...she would never forgive herself. _He_ would never forgive himself.

 _This is my burden._ He told himself, the sting in his heart lessening with each breath he drew. _My burden to bear._

He inhaled again, air filling his lungs until there was no vacant space. He held it in, feeling for his heartbeat. Feeling the ache. He understood, better than most, that to endure pain one had to really feel it. Live in it. Acknowledge it. To hide from it or deny it...well, in the end that was impossible. There was no life without pain. He had accepted that long ago. From birth he had been dealt a rotten hand, but he had friends now. And family. No matter what existed between them, Azriel knew...Mor would always be apart of that family. A constant light, burning like a star in his dark sky.

For the first time since landing, Azriel took in his surroundings. The blue sky was tinged with dark gray clouds. A spring storm was on it's way. The trees, conifers of deep green shades, stood so tall they blocked the mountains and valleys from view. The clearing was dotted with wildflowers of blue, purple and yellow. He hadn't appreciated flowers before. Not since Elain...Even now, even as despair burrowed into his head, he was happy for her. Happy that she had found her strength and accepted her newfound abilities. He had once been like her, sorrowful and hateful of the circumstances that had been forced upon him. He understood her pain. He hoped that he had helped her see beyond it. Like Feyre, Azriel had his doubts about the fox fae, but Lucien had been respectful even under the influence of overwhelming instinct. It was likely that, with enough time, Elain would accept the bond.

Birds sang in the distance, cheery songs that tugged at his heartstrings. He lowered himself down into the grass and rested his forearms on his bent knees. A soft breeze snaked across the small plain, ruffling his hair now tinged with sweat. Azriel focused on his breathing. On the smell of the earth and sky, land untouched by the war. Patches of blue shone through, lighting small areas of grass and rock. Soon enough, his heart would steady and he could go home. Blood flow slowed. Clarity returned to his head. But a whisper of sound pulled him from meditation. He sprung to his feet, calling his shadows to him.

Someone, or perhaps some _thing_ , was watching him.

Azriel had lived long enough, spied for long enough, to know what it felt like. To be watched. The unease that settled in his stomach was familiar. He had sensed it in many a target, like a predator stalking its prey there was a scent. But in all his time, he had never experienced it firsthand. Swiftly and silently, he became nothing but shadow. Melding into the lanky shade of trees that lined the clearing. His eyes slipped shut and he listened. His ears, as awake and aware as his skilled eyes, picked up on no sound. No gasp of surprise or curse of frustration at his sudden disappearance. He waited, wondering if maybe he had imagined it.

After several minutes, a figure stepped out from behind a tree. It was a human. Female.

She was a small thing, young like the Archeron sisters. She took careful, quiet steps. Her feet bare against the grassy floor, but she watched for any loose leaf or stick that could make unwelcome noise underfoot. She was dressed simply, in a cotton tunic that was likely meant to be worn with leggings. But her legs, pale and splashed with dirt, were bare as well. A stretch of fabric was tied across her middle and in one hand she clutched an empty basket. She was staring at the place he had only just occupied. Azriel cursed himself for dropping his guard.

She turned towards him then, looking straight at him without seeing. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, thick and curled but very matted. It fell down her back. Her eyes, wide and curious, were dark. Like pools at the bottom of a well.

She took a step towards him and a scent triggered his memories. She was human yes, but there was something about her. It was faint, but there was magic in her. He realized he had sensed it before...on the once missing queen, Vassa. His own curiosity peaked, he was about to step from the shadows when he realized she wasn't alone.

Another creature stepped from the forest. It was too large to be a dog, but too slender to be fae. A wolf. Its fur was pale like moonlight. It's amber eyes were pinned to the girl, stalking towards her from behind. Azriel readied himself to move in between them, shadows gathering. But the girl turned as if also sensing the approaching danger and a smile lit up her face.

The creature whined, it's tail bobbing back and forth as it pounced on her. The girl loosed a near silent breath of laughter, running her hands over the beast's head as it licked her face furiously. She toppled backwards, unable to keep steady on her knees under the weight of the wild animal. The wolf only whined, unrelenting. The creature rolled over onto it's back, a sign of trust and submission. The girl crawled back up to her knees and leaned down to rub it's belly.

She didn't speak, didn't utter a word, but Azriel was certain that they were communicating. Somehow…

The girl's face scrunched up and she sighed. The wolf only huffed in response, rolling over again. She pressed her forehead to the wolf's and Azriel felt as though he should turn away; as if he were spying on something too intimate for his voyeur's eyes. After a minute the wolf knocked her head aside and began licking her face again before plopping into a sitting position next to her. They sat together for several minutes, the girl idly petting the creature. Azriel watched from shadows. He had little experience with humans and the animals of their world, but he knew enough to realize that this was an odd coupling. A predator and it's prey, enjoying each other's company.

Without much warning, a steady stream of rain began to fall from the sky. Unperturbed, the girl simply rose from the ground, brushing dirt from her clothes. The wolf mewled again, pawing at the girl's legs as she bent down to pick up her basket. Sadness crept into her eyes as she tilted her head towards the foothills. As if understanding, the wolf bowed its head. With a small smile, she dropped down again and wrapped her arms around the creature.

She stood, tucking stray hairs between her ear, surveying the clearing once more. The wolf nipped at her knee, with a small growl. The girl frowned, but only shook her head and pushed the beast aside. The wolf huffed again, but stood down as she turned to leave.

Azirel didn't know why; didn't stop to question it when he stumbled out of the shadows, letting them fall away like smoke and said, "Wait."

Both girl and beast jumped, heads twirling to face him. The wolf's lips peeled back revealing a mean set of teeth. It moved in front of the girl and loosed a low growl, hackles raised. The girl's eyes were wide and she stood stock still, sizing him up. He could sense her elevated heartbeat, taste the apprehension that radiated off of her.

Azriel lifted his hand and opened his mouth, but her gaze had fallen on his wings and she gasped. She turned and fled, racing across the clearing and disappearing into the trees.

* * *

Thank you reading! If you're new to my stories...there are plenty more (for different fandoms of course)! I would love feedback if you have any. Til next time 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Even though the wall had been destroyed, few humans and even fewer fae chose to venture across the now open borders; not with the wounds of war still fresh in the minds of all who had witnessed it. The wall had been standing for so long, even now in its absence, those living closest to it could still feel it's presence. Even see it's remnants carved into the earth. And while some fae were struck with mild but ultimately fleeting curiosities, most simply didn't care enough to make the journey. Many humans had, but few attempted to complete it by crossing into Prythian. Stories circulated by the Children of the Blessed and rumors that had accumulated power from years of whispering still hung over many a human encampment.

Bryn however had never taken much stock in the stories. Magic, both miraculous and terrible, had been sewn through her veins. And thought she hated it, she had no choice but to live with it. Survive it. Time had strengthened her resolve and she was no more frightened of it's power than she was of the mice that roamed through her family's farm.

So she strayed across the border; fearless and perhaps foolish. But she couldn't stay away after seeing what the fae lands had to offer. It was like a painting come to life. The land was much more fertile than she was used to. Bluebells and Phlox of all colors painted the hills in wispy patches. Ancient trees towered above her. The scents and smells were more potent than anything in her homeland. Unable to deny the temptation the explore, she had visited the fae lands whenever she was able to and in the year since the wall had vanished, she had yet to happen upon another soul, fae or otherwise...until yesterday.

As she busied herself with the morning's chores, Bryn tried to reconstruct the memory of the man...or fae from the clearing. She had watched him through the trees mesmerized by the shadows that flowed around him like tendrils of smoke. They were so strange, so oddly entrancing that she hadn't even noticed the wings upon first glance. A shiver wracked up and down her spine at the thought of them as a clearer image began to take shape in her head. Those wings, like a bat's - a creature that roamed at night and silently hunted weaker beings with deadly accuracy - a stark contrast to the soft sun and pastel flowers that surrounded them then. Dangerous, that was what the fae were. And dangerous was what he _seemed_ with those...things protruding from his back. From birth she had been told stories about the fae. A race of monsters, thirsty for human flesh in more ways than one.

But when he turned to her and she was met with his face...a different sort of shiver echoed inside her. His eyes were not that of killers: soft hazel orbs that gleamed like precious metals. And with hair black as night and tanned olive skin...he was handsome. So handsome that she wondered if she had simply dreamed him up.

Bryn plunged her hands back into the soapy water that filled the bucket she knelt before, scrubbing stains away from her sopping apron. She had been so quick to run, terrified that being caught would mean...well, she wasn't sure what it would mean. In her twenty-seven years, she had learned to wear instinct on her sleeve and knew better than to ignore it. Most of the time. He could've attacked her. Eaten her. Or stolen her away. Butterflies multiplied in her stomach at the sound of his voice floated through her mind. She had only heard the one word, but it was low and thick like honey. A balm against the fear her gut had dreamed up to protect her. Eyes slipping shut, Bryn tried to solidify the pieced-together memory, but it was already fading. Brow furrowing she wondered why she was so hesitant to accept her apprehension. Something deep down inside her was protesting.

_You're just a fool_ , She thought. _Glamoured by a pretty face_. _Fae or no fae he's still…_

A familiar shadow spread over her heart, binding it up until it felt so heavy she thought it would drop into her stomach.

_...still a man._ She finished bitterly.

Blinking, she turned her eyes to the mountains to the place she knew the clearing to be. She pictured his face...those eyes a perfect match to the soft, lilting sound of his voice. And the weight in her chest lightened.

She stood, her mind made up. No matter the danger, she had to see him again.

* * *

_What am I doing?_

The question hung heavy in the chilled mountain air, but no answer came. Shaking his head, Azriel shifted his eyes to the sky. It was well past noon. He had landed in the clearing just after dawn, hoping to see her again and apologize for frightening her. He had spent the night arguing with himself, wondering if it was even worth the trip. In the end, he chose to go not out of guilt but something else. Something worse.

He knew what staying in Velaris that day would mean. Rhysand had scheduled another family dinner and...Mor would be there. Everyone would be there. Shame rattled his bones at the thought. He wasn't ready to face her. To face any of them yet. He was certain she wouldn't tell anyone else in deference to him, to give him time. But even the chance of meeting Feyre's eye; the eye of someone else who knew...he couldn't take it. The pity or sympathy or whatever it would be. He had enough of that. Enough to last a lifetime.

So he doubled down on his flimsy excuse and fled the city; knowing all too well that if he stayed and missed the dinner Cassian would come hunting for him and drag him there if need be. Well, Cassian couldn't hunt what he couldn't find. He spent the morning listening to the sounds of the wilderness, drawing in new shadows and crafting an excuse that would best satisfy his High Lord and Lady upon his return. But after several hours, not a single living soul crept into the clearing. Or even near it.

He was about to slip into a prolonged meditation when he caught hold of her scent on a wayward breeze. Rising to his feet, he turned west and spun shadows around himself. Strangely, nerves began to flutter in his stomach and he realized he wasn't sure what to say to her. Or what to do when he saw her again. Nevertheless he walked on, weaving between trees, until his path was blocked by a winding forest stream. Clear water, filled with moss covered stones and small schools of tadpoles, rushed down the hillside. He followed its course until it spilled over a small waterfall no taller than Amren. Silently, he stepped to the edge and peered down. Sun light breached the canopy in warm amber shafts and small tufts of spring pollen and dirt floated serenely through the air, catching the light. Water from the falls pooled in a small shallow pond before continuing their journey down into Southern Spring territory. And kneeling just below it was the girl. She braced one hand on a rock that jutted out from the shoreline, head bowed so that the falling water would drench her hair. Her free hand was pulling at tangles and shaking dirt away.

Unlike his brothers, Azriel had never felt the need to charm women upon meeting them. In their younger years, Rhys had relished in teasing women with carefully spun innuendos. Cassian on the other hand, aside from the occasional caustic word, chose to woo in a manner that was purely physical. A burning glance here, a carefully timed flex of his muscles there...Azriel never resorted to either tactic.

He simply said, "Hello."

She did gasp this time, flinging her hair back which sent a flurry of water into the air; each nebulous drop catching the light like sparking embers. Stumbling back she looked up, dark eyes searching for him. Breathless she kept a tight grip on her dripping hair and broadened the distance between them with three tentative steps. Even from above, he could sense her speeding pulse. Feeling guilty, thinking she would run again, he stepped forward.

"I-"

With his eyes trained on her and all his focus dedicated to containing his shadows, he didn't register how slick the rocks were. His foot slid forward and he tumbled straight down into the pond with a definite splash. Shadow and soil splayed around him as water soaked through the plates of his armor, but he barely felt the tender chill. Sputtering he shifted to his knees, the water only just reaching his mid-thigh, and lifted a hand to brush the hair from his eye.

A sound from the shoreline captured his attention once more. The girl had breathed a wispy laugh, the sound of it snaking through him like one of his shadows. When he met her gaze, her dark eyes went wide and she slipped a hand over her mouth. It was too late, his eyes had seen what she was trying to hide: the beginnings of a smile. One bright enough to steal rays from the sun. It still shone in her eyes, sparkling mischievously like the sun-tipped water droplets that still fell from her hair. 

Stricken with a mixture of embarrassment (and another strange emotion he couldn't identify), Azriel didn't have time to scramble up before she gingerly stepped to the edge and offered him her hand. Her expression turned into one of a silent apology, but she couldn't quite shake the amused grin from her face as she bit down on her lip. The heat that was bubbling in his chest ebbed. He thought of Cassian and Rhys, hell even Mor and what they would do if they saw him now and it stirred a smile deep down inside him.

He moved slowly so as not to frighten her and gently took her hand. She grasped his hand tightly and he adjusted so as to use his own strength to lessen her strain. Once straightened, they stepped back to the shore, feet sinking slightly into the flooded rocky ground.

Her hand was unexpectedly calloused, her grip firmer than Azriel would have thought possible given her slight, almost sickly human form. Azriel had little experience with human females, having only recently spent his days watching the movements of the seven queens. Her skin was somewhat tanned, but still light against his own. When he ventured a glance at her, he saw that she too was gazing at his hand. At the ripples of old wounds. A familiar unease swirled in his stomach, one that he had never been able to shake in the years since his brothers cruel game.

"My name is Azriel," He said, with a short bow of his head. Hoping the introduction would divert her attention.

Her eyes flitted away from his hand and she cocked her head to one side considering his name. He waited patiently for her to offer her own in response. Her hair was dripping wet and smelled of soil after rainfall. It stained the fabric of the olive tunic she wore. It was torn and mussed in several places, revealing a deep brown cotton slip underneath a near match to the carob tones of her hair.

"I-" Azriel started. Not wanting to frighten her again, he continued to keep his shadows contained. But he could feel their pull within him, their curiosity. Instinct pleaded with him to let them loose and explore. He needed to know her name, everything about her. If only for his own piece of mind.

"Can I ask...what is yours?" He tried, gently.

A flash of sadness crossed her eyes, but like a bolt of lightening it was gone so swiftly that Azriel questioned whether or not he had seen it at all. She slid her hand from his and lifted it to her throat. Deftly touching her fingers just above her collarbone, she shook her head from side to side. Azriel's hazel eyes narrowed in understanding.

She couldn't speak.

It could perhaps, explain the tang of magic that surrounded her. Was he correct in thinking it was more than just slight? A curse perhaps? Like Vassa? The magic did have a similar edge to it...

"I'm sorry," He said.

She simply shrugged, but he could still sense the sadness behind her eyes and sense how hard she tried to keep it hidden. 

"Could...you write it down?" He asked.

She shook her head and brought her palms together flat. She spread them open and shut, mimicking the action of a book as her head continued to bob.

_So she can't read or write._ He thought. It shouldn't have surprised him, Mor herself had explained that upon her arrival to the Night Court Feyre couldn't either and many of the Illyrian females he had known were never given the opportunity to learn.

She stepped around him and knelt down before the pond, wringing water out of her hair. Azriel turned and watched her carefully, his mind whirling. How could young human such as this one run a fowl of such magic? He had heard tell of curses over the centuries, both horrific and petty. Vassa, the lost queen, had been betrayed. Others had simply wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps that had been her fate.

"Has it been long?" He asked. The question implied.

He saw her stiffen. She rose up. Though her face remained still, his abilities allowed him to see just beyond the freckle-laden veil. The cogs in her mind were working, most likely to figure out how he had so quickly recognized her magic-tinged circumstances. She only held up her hands. Seven fingers. Seven years. Not long then. At least, not to Azriel. He was tempted to ask her what happened, but realized it would likely be too difficult to explain. As his eyes drifted to hers again, he realized that she was scrutinizing him as well.

A low, predatory growl interrupted their silent observations. The pair looked up to where Azriel had been standing just before his fall. The wolf from the day before looked down on them, crouched and ready to pounce. It's amber eyes were focused squarely on Azriel, it's lips curled back revealing a ravenous set of thorn-sharp teeth.

The girl reached out, tugging at Azriel's clothes and stepped in front of him.

The creature leapt easily from the small ridge and landed at her feet, circling around and backing up, forcing the girl to step back as well and once more widen the distance between them. Azriel, having battled with and against beasts of a much more demonic nature, was undeterred. The girl dropped to her knees and ran her hand over the wolf's head, trying to calm it.

"He's a friend?" Azriel said, his voice low.

The wolf responded with the searing snarl. Azriel stretched his damp wings in response, hazel eyes alight. It was...almost endearing to see a creature so obviously out of it depth attempt to intimidate him.

She nodded, catching her hand under the wolf's chin and fixed it with a stern look. Azriel blanched, a smile itching at the corners of his mouth. The creature whined and huffed at her, but wriggled away and ceased its fierce show. The girl straightened from her crouch and offered him an apologetic look.

Her eyes shifted however and turned dark. The small, easy smile disappeared. Her brows knitted together. Azriel looked down following her gaze and realized that slivered wisps of shadows were leaking from him, shrouding his wings and sliding up his back, over his shoulder.

He let out a small curse under his breath at such a sorry display of carelessness, but he saw no point in retracting them now.

"They're only shadows," He said, lifting one scarred hand. She watched with a keen and curious eye as the shadows curled up his arm and languidly wove through his fingers. Azriel in turn watched her carefully as he willed the shadows towards her.

She cocked her head to the side and lifted her own hand to meet its path. A visible shiver wracked through her as the shadow touched her index finger, but she didn't pull away. Turning her palm up, the tips of her fingers curled just slightly and a strange but familiar warmth stirred in Azriel's chest at the sparks in her eyes.

He willed the shadows further, allowing them to brush across her palm and circle around her wrist. They travelled slowly up her arm, Azriel's sixth sense stirring at the fragile touch. He could sense her heartbeat as easily as his own now. He could feel now that she was undernourished, but no more so than the other humans he had come across during the wars. Still, there was strength in her...the calloused hands, the lean muscles and dirt-ridden clothes. No doubt she spent her days working. Azriel's thoughts strayed to a far off place, one he rarely allowed himself to see and a vision of his mother passed through his mind. The shadows turned as black as ink and expanded in size. They tendril of shadow slunk up her arm and over her shoulder, making to wrap around her back. She recoiled, pulling Azriel from his dark reverie. He called the shadows back immediately.

"I-I'm sorry," He said.

He could tell he had frightened her again. But she inhaled and then reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. He met her gaze and she turned up her shoulders as if to say _it's okay._

The wolf yipped, pushing at her free hand with its massive head. She looked down at it and then up to the sky, worry covering over her face. Azriel following her gaze and realized that the sun had sunk lower in the sky. On the horizon, a pink-orange glow had painted the far off clouds. Sunset was fast approaching and not long after that a moonless night would usher in a blanket of darkness.

"You need to go." He said aloud, understanding.

She turned to him and nodded sullenly.

_But she doesn't want to._ He thought, unsure of what to do with such information. She didn't know him. He hardly knew her. And yet...he wanted to. Azriel tried to remember a time he had longed to know a person apart from the war and machinations of the bickering courts. It had been Cassian and Rhys. Feyre and...and Mor. Centuries of longing, spurred by denial, simmered in his stomach. He didn't want this. To go through it all again. He would be better off alone, with a family of friends and an occasional lover. Something to satisfy the endless onslaught of lonely nights in an empty house. But...no, not this girl. He wouldn't bring a human into such a tenuous and shallow affair. It wouldn't be right to waste even a day of the short life she was cursed to live.

And yet...

"Will you..." He started, but lost track of the words when her eyes met his. "Are you coming again? Tomorrow?"

A flash of doubt crossed her face and her brows knit together again. But she shook it off and smiled, nodding eagerly. Her hand still clutched at his and Azriel knew then that even after surviving Mor's truth...he was still weak. Still held hostage by the engrossing whims of his heart.

And so, even as the stronger parts of him protested wildly, he said: "I will be here."

The girl blinked, taken aback by the serious tone in his voice. Yet somehow her smile grew and she bowed her head in a show of youthful grace. Reluctantly, she slid her hand from his again and stepped away never once breaking eye contact. Azriel watched as she disappeared into the forest; the shadows around him stretching towards her as if wanting to follow.

* * *

"I'm worried about him." Mor said, running one sun-kissed finger along the rim of her glass.

Feyre cast her friend a comforting smile. She was expecting this after watching Mor emphatically ask the waitress to slip something heavier into her order of juice. She and Mor sat outside of Rita's enjoying the cool morning breeze that flew in from the sea, carving a gentle path up the Sidra. Breakfasts had become a tradition for the two of them. At least once a fortnight, the ladies of the inner circle would gather while the Illyrians spent the morning in training (at Cassian's insistence). While Amren was usually keen to join them, still reveling in the varied tastes and textures of fae food, on this day she had flitted off to the Summer Court to 'visit' with Varian. They didn't expect to see her again for several days.

"I know," Feyre said, needing no context to explain her friend's sudden admission. "We all are."

They had seen less and less of Azriel in the past weeks. Feyre, knowing her mate had a pension for keeping dangerous missions a secret, had demanded to know if Rhys had sent his spymaster to work. But the High Lord was as baffled as the rest of them. Cassian had gone to visit his home nestled in the highlands of Velaris hoping to find answers, but the Shadowsinger either wasn't there or didn't deign to come out. Both possibilities had left Cassian stewing; his frustration a dismal mask for the concern he obviously felt. Only Feyre knew enough to guess what had happened and she had winnowed to Mor's side upon the very second of realization.

"Do you think…" Mor started, staring down at her untouched plate, arms crossed over her chest. "That Cassian and Rhys suspect?"

Feyre snoted. "Cassian can't even admit his feelings for Nesta...even after everything's that happened."

Mor rolled her eyes and huffed, but nodded in agreement. Cassian saw Azriel as a brother first and a soldier second. Any conclusion he would draw would likely bend towards that of their duties to the realm.

"And Rhys?"

Feyre bit down on her lip and Mor loosed a groan before reaching for her drink. "He does, doesn't he?!"

"No!" Feyre sat up straight and shook her head. "Not really...I mean, he does sense that something's changed between you two but he can't fathom what or why. And he would never try to get in the middle of it."

After several swallows of gin laced juice in which she considered Feyre's words, Mor finally reached for her fork, relieving her friend.

"Good." She shoveled several bites into her mouth, swallowing hard. "I will tell him, Feyre. Him and- well, everyone else."

Feyre smiled gently,"I know you will."

"But...now that Az knows-" Mor started her bottom lip trembling. "After I-"

"He just needs time," Feyre said, leaning forward and reaching for Mor's hand. "You know how he gets, better than any of us. When he's ready, we'll see him again."

Mor considered this, nodded and returned to her meal.

* * *

As days passed, their meetings became more frequent. Bryn woke before the rising sun, speeding through her morning chores so as not to arouse suspicion in her brothers. Once the work was done, she would disappear into the woods and hurriedly make the trek into fae lands. The journey would take her close to an hour, but it was well worth it. As she traversed the last hill leading to the clearing, she felt a flurry of butterflies let loose in her stomach. She couldn't help but wonder, each and every time, if Azriel would truly be there.

Sure enough, he sat in the center, arms resting on bent knees. Eyes closed as a breeze ruffled his dark air. Bryn wrapped her arms around the tree at her side, leaning against it and gripping it tightly. It wasn't fair how beautiful he was; how...otherworldly he seemed against the gentle pastels of the wildflowers that still dotted the clearing. Even now, this being their seventh or eighth meeting, she was still entirely undone at the sight of him. Waiting for her. She flushed, recalling a night's worth of dreams that were anything but innocent. They all began in the same way. With him, sitting just as he was now. And he would turn to her and she would see him smile...Her stomach turned over at the thought of it and she loosed a wistful sigh.

His eyes fluttered open, setting her heart alight. But he didn't smile, she could see it in his eyes. The softness, the relief at the sight of her. The rest of his face was carved stone and angular bone. It didn't bother her though.

_Someday._ She had promised herself. _I'll see his smile. If he doesn't up and disappear on me._

She waved her hand as she stepped out of the trees, hopping over an overgrown clump of weeds. He lifted one of his and jerked it to the side before letting it drop back to his knee. Bryn stilled for a second.

_He looks...tired._ She thought, brow furrowing.

She dropped down next to him, curling her knees under and bracing herself with one hand. A beat later, her white-furred friend, appeared from the shadows. As if he had been waiting for her. He slumped down next to her, resting his head against her bare foot. She pressed her palm to his head for a quick pat, a silent thank you for his self-imposed chaperoning. The wolf only blinked lazily in response.

Over the long afternoon hours, they had come to find an effective (if at times a little clumsy) means of communication. To Bryn's surprise and utter joy she found that, unlike anyone she had ever known, he was careful to watch her every move as she struggled to craft a response to his questions. He would always think before speaking, trying to find the right phrasing so that she could easily respond with a simple 'yes' or 'no' but as their conversations deepened, they were beginning to find it harder and harder to continue. Thank in part to his seemingly endless patience and her exuberance for finally being heard, she had managed to convey to him that she lived with her family on a farm just south of the wall, that they grew several kinds of fruit trees and cared for a small bundle of animals. Now if only she could find a way to tell him her name.

A stronger gust of wind flew through the clearing, ushering in a bank of deep grey clouds. Bryn lazily wrapped one arm around herself, trying to stave off a shiver at the sudden dip in temperature. When she looked up again she saw that Azriel was watching her carefully, a look of disapproval simmering in his hazel eyes.

Flushing, Bryn shook off the chill in her bones and touched two fingers to her lips and then flung them out.

_Tell me…_

Lifting her shoulders squarely, she bent her arms at her elbows and set her hands flat with her palms facing upwards. She pointed to his wings and then to the sky.

_What is it like to fly?_

Azriel smirked. It wasn't the smile Bryn was desperate to see, but her blood went hot at the sight of it and the cold was all but forgotten. All the air in her lungs left her in one whispered _whoosh._

"Flying?" He said, cocking his head back and looking to the sky himself. She nodded eagerly, like a child waiting to hear their favorite fairytale told again.

"It's like nothing else. Most Illyrians learn when they are children. I...didn't learn until I was much older. And it wasn't till then that I truly understood what it means to be free."

Bryn listened thoughtfully, tugging free an aster blossom and rolling it between her fingers. 

Azriel had faced danger and even death, but never before had he felt more grateful for the abilities he had gained in the wake of his hellish childhood. Every move she made, no matter how small, he was able to identify and he could see clearly how happy it made her. To be heard even under the spell of enforced silence.

She scrunched her face to feign a look of terror.

"Was it frightening?" He said, giving voice to her words. Bryn nodded.

"At first," He said. "Yes, very much so."

He told her in detail his first time in the air, the subsequent fall that had left him with fractured bones and the weeks it took for him to master the ability. As his story came to a close, his throat began to itch. Azriel tried to remember a time he had talked for so long.

"I could take you sometime," He offered.

Bryn sat up quickly, eyes as wide as saucers. Whether out of fear or surprise, Azriel couldn't tell.

"Slowly of course." He clarified.

Bryn swallowed, her mind whirring at the thought of being lifted into the sky. To see the world from so high up, to see all she had never been able to see outside of her family's farm and the trails she had carved out of her own restlessness. But...to be that high up and clinging to Azriel. He would need to hold her tightly of course. The image was so clear in her mind, so vibrant, she could almost feel his arms around her. Perhaps in one of her dreams...

Azriel breathed another laugh. She had brought a bevy of loose flowers and leaves up in her hair. Without thinking he reached out and pulled loose the fallen aster, his fingers sliding through the curled lock. Bryn sat as still as a statue, hardly breathing. He was close, so much closer than before. She could smell citrus and smoke on him; she wanted to drink it in like wine.

A cloud bank passed them by, itself a sluggish mass. In it's wake, the warmth of the sun poured over them. The grass was tinted in rose hues now, the white flowers taking on a new color in the musky orange rays of sunlight.

_Orange..._ Bryn thought, something in the back of her mind stirring.

A warning.

_Oh no._

Bryn leapt to her feet and turned around. The sun was setting. Half of it already had already disappeared beyond the mountain above them.

_Has it already been that long?!_

She spun back to face Azriel, racking her brain for some way to explain. But there was no time. If she hurried. If she _ran,_ maybe he could make it back in time.

Azriel remained seated, but concern was set in his eyes. "Did I-"

Bryn, shaking her head, knelt down and touched her hands to his lips to shut him up. She mouthed the words _I'm sorry._

Hoping it was enough, she she darted across the clearing and vanished into the trees.

Azriel clamored to his feet, nonplussed. Lips burning in the wake of her touch, he looked to the wolf that had been sitting by her side. It too was watching the place where she had just been. A grim understanding set in it's wild eyes.

Wanting to follow her, Azriel stepped forward. But the wolf, stirred to action, blocked his path.

And once again, Azriel was reminded of Mor. Of the years he had spent following her around. Dark anger bit at his heart and his feet turned to stone.

_She will come back tomorrow._ He told himself.

Then he would ask her what had happened, if it was something he did.

Relenting, he nodded to the wolf. Spreading his wings wide, he shot into the air and headed North.

* * *

Bryn ran home, so fast she thought for a moment she could fly. Her lungs grew hot as she mined them for air, but she knew she couldn't stop. The sun was gone, the sliver that had remained in the clearing having slipped behind the mountain. The day was done and night was here.

_I'm late._ She thought, panting. _So late._

Herbs fell from the basket she clutched but she didn't stop to retrieve them. It didn't matter now. As she descended the foothills, she could see small dots of light flickering in the valley below, strings of curses echoing in her mind. Dodging trees, she barreled out from the forest, nearly losing her footing and rolling down the hillside.

She could see the farmhouse clearly now. Her grandparents had built the house decades ago. They were the only humans daring to settle so close to the wall. Others had called them crazy, but the land was fertile and the animals they raised kept the family from poverty. Her parents had taken the reins, cultivating small groves of fruit trees. The house itself was crafted of brick and stone. With two stories and several windows, it looked positively quaint to the undiscerning eye.

But Bryn felt no warmth when she looked upon the house. And now that she was late...

_Maybe...maybe they're not home._ Her brothers had gone into town that afternoon and sometimes, if she was lucky they didn't make the trek home until well after dark.

Her heart sank at the sight of smoke rising from the chimney. Swallowing, she slowed to a stop and caught her breath.

_It's been so long since I..._ Bryn couldn't bare to finish the thought. _Maybe just this once I'll get a second chance._

Something akin to a laugh threatened to spill out of her. An empty, bitter one. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself and, gripping the basket tightly in one shaking hand, she jumped the fence that marked her family's border. With small footsteps, she approached the front door; her eyes trained on the smoke that billowed into the night sky. She watched the puffy black tendrils, wishing that somehow she could become them and float away into the night.

Stepping up to the porch, she cringed as the aging wood buckled under her weight. No doubt one of her brothers had heard it. But if she were lucky...She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The warmth from the fire could not reach her, but for a moment all was quiet and she dared to think that perhaps she could slip upstairs unseen. She moved towards the steps that led to her room in the attic.

"There you are."

A hand caught her shoulder and spun her around. Her back hit the door and she was faced with Isaac and Gareth, the youngest of her four brothers; leering at her like cats on the prowl. They were dark haired like she was, but both of them were green eyed like their father. They wore their hair trimmed at the sides at their eldest brother's request, the pair of them following him around like trained mutts eager for his approval now that their father was long dead.

Isaac, the older and taller of the two, all sinew and sneers, spoke first. "You're late."

Bryn flinched at the delight in his voice, but kept her face as still and as hard as a statue.

"Roman isn't happy," Gareth said, flashing his teeth and parroting his elder brothers mocking tone.

Unable to speak to her case, Bryn could do nothing as each grabbed one of her forearms and dragged her into the kitchen. The basket of plants, her only play at an excuse dropped from her hand and spilled over the floor, already forgotten.

A fire crackled in the large hearth that sat across the room. Before it sat a large table built by their grandfather. And at it's head was her eldest brother, Roman. He didn't look up upon their entrance. His eyes were trained on a gold pocket watch that had once belonged to their father. The only trinket of worth left after his death.

"Bryn," He said coolly, almost gently. "Do you know what time it is?"

Bryn bit down on her lip, her whole body quaking. She managed a small shake of her head.

"Half past eight," He said, snapping the watch shut and finally looking at her. Bryn shifted her gaze, unable to meet his. He too had their father's eyes, green as emeralds but dark and distant.

"Lorens is tending to the animals," He continued. "Since you weren't here."

Bryn stepped back, but Isaac and Gareth held fast; their nails threatening to pierce her skin. Not good. This was not good. She bowed her head in a show of regret. Her heart had burrowed up in her throat, choking the air from her.

"There's no excusing it," Roman said. Bracing his large hands on the table he rose. He was taller than the rest of them and sported a muscled frame, the result of years of brush hunting and boxing with the men in town. Before his siblings had grown, he had spent most of his days tending to the crops but once their father had died and Roman and inherited it all, he delegated any and all work to his siblings. Most of his time was spent at the local pub or in the southern woods.

Bryn kept her eyes trained on the floor.

"What should we do about such blatant tardiness?" Roman asked. Lips pursed, Bryn could only manage short, swift breaths. She knew that any action or protest on her part would only make things worse. She felt a hand snake through her hair and grip it tightly, pulling her up. She gasped as a stinging pain radiated in her skull.

"I told you Roman, not to let her out for so long," Isaac sneered. Bryn could smell his beer-stained breath by her ear but she only turned her head away.

"She can't be trusted," Gareth added eagerly, his grip on her arm tightening. "You extended her a kindness and she took advantage."

Bryn shook her head furiously. Her eyes were pleading. _No._ She thought, searing the sentiment through her eyes. _It's not true. It was an_ _ **accident**_ _._

"Perhaps you're right," Roman met her gaze coldly before looking down and casually picking at his thumbnail. Bryn felt the color drain from her face.

"Five lashes." He said finally. Bryn felt the wind knocked out of her, not from trepidation but relief. Five. She could handle five. As long as Isaac wasn't the one to-

"Each." He finished. "Lorens should be back shortly."

Bryn's knees buckled and she mouthed the word no in earnest over and over again. Isaac stepped towards the door that led out back, pulling her behind him. Bryn fought but Gareth still kept hold of her arm, pushing her along. She was still weakened from her run and unable to wriggle away.

"And Bryn?" Roman called. Both brothers ceased their excitable chattering immediately stopping just before the threshold.

"When you're not busy with chores," Roman drawled, stretching his arms out in front of him; readying himself. "You are to be confined to the attic. For a fortnight."

Unable to pull away, she was forced out the door and into the black. Roman followed behind, clutching a birch cane in one brawny hand.

* * *

Thank you all for reading! At the risk of sounding cloying, I would very much appreciate a review. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

Bryn hissed as a cloth soaked in warm water was laid over a shallow cut running against the curve of her scapular spine. She lay on her stomach amongst the piles of blankets, hay and low wooden frame that made up her bed. Since birth she had called the attic home, thankful that she had never grown tall like her brothers who usually stayed away due to the often stifling heat and low cobweb infested ceiling. Roman sat next to her, his head only inches from brushing the cathedral ceiling. A single candle flickered in a small holder next to his feet, inciting wobbling shadows to dance clumsily across the walls. His hefty weight caused a strain against the aging wood of the bed, each movement he made eliciting a brittle groan. He pressed the cloth against the wound, the last of the stripes that littered her back. Older scars crisscrossed between them in raised ridges turned pale by time. It had been months since her last misdeed, maybe even a year. The pain was new again. She could feel the echoing bite as water seeped through her skin all the way to her bones. Soon the bruises would set in and she knew that tomorrow's work would take her twice the time.

"Quiet," Roman ordered, gruffly.

Pursing her lips together, Bryn tried to think of other things. The clearing in the mountains, so peaceful and so very far away from here. The beautiful colors of the wildflowers, more dear to Bryn than the delicate, velvety roses that climbed up the eastern wall of their house. The smell of dew clinging to the tall grasses as the sun blazed. And...

_Azriel…_

Sorrow and panic cleaved through her. It would be impossible for her to meet with him tomorrow. Or the next day or the next week. Impossible to send a message to him even. Roman would be watching. As would the others. And if she wasn't there for weeks maybe even months...what if she never saw him again? The thought brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes and try as she might, she couldn't contain the shuddering gasp that burst from her lungs like a flood of water.

"You brought this upon yourself, you know." Roman said, taking a gentler tone. Anger ignited inside Bryn; an old match sparking again. He was right, she had been careless.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ She thought, anger morphing into something darker. Heavier.

Roman lifted the cloth away and dropped it into a pale at the side of her bed. Bryn shifted, pulling her hand up to her mouth, biting at her thumbnail. To rage or to surrender? Both temptations battled within her, each speaking a strong case. She wanted to shout at him, hit him, watch _him_ bleed as he made her bleed...but she was exhausted and plagued by memories of far more painful punishments.

"I've been very clear with you from the start," He continued, pressing a larger dry cut of cloth to the length of her back. Sections of it blossomed red, soaking up what blood remained. "About what is expected of you, Bryn."

Bryn's eyes fluttered open and shut. She had heard this speech before. Time and again. Knowing what came next, and damning the consequences, she turned again to thoughts of Azriel. Anything to block out the-

"After losing mother…"

Pain far greater than that of the cane struck through her heart like a bolt of lightning. Guilt wrapped around Bryn like a vice, cutting off air and bringing a swift death to the rebellious thoughts that still swirled in her head. Her fault. It had been all her fault. Her very existence had only one clear outcome from the start. Why had the fates blessed her with life, only to take away the one thing she wanted even before she knew she had wanted it?

"-and father...we all have to do our part." Roman continued after first allowing her to stew in the remorse he had baited her with. His tone was bitter now, hatred laced in his words so heated Bryn flinched. "Don't we?"

With waves of misery flowing through her, Bryn could only nod wishing her brother would just leave her be. Perhaps the curse that flowed through her veins was a blessing in disguise. Had she the ability to speak, nothing could stop her from unloading a decade's worth of animosity on her brothers. The results of such a tirade...would be catastrophic.

"Good girl," Roman said, reaching out and ruffling her hair with one muscled hand. Bryn flinched away and turned her head over, praying he couldn't see the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes. "Two weeks...Understood?"

Bryn made no move to answer. With a labored sigh, Roman rose from the bed, the wood cracking under the relief of removed pressure. He turned towards her door and picked up the candle.

"Sometimes I wonder," He said before reaching the door. "If you're worth all this trouble."

He descended the steps, leaving Bryn in the dark.

* * *

"You're not coming, are you?"

Azriel looked to his bastard brother, Cassian, his face as smooth and as hard as a stone. He held a glass filled to the brim with bronze liquid. It felt cool in his hand, cooler even than the shadows that pooled at his feet.

They stood atop his townhouse located on the northern mountains of Velaris. Compared to the House of Wind, it was modest in size. Standing only two stories high it occupied the middle of a quiet, cobblestoned street set upon the mountainside. Like the other houses on the block, it was constructed of white clay, it's front walls covered in blooming bougainvillea. The color was so vibrantly fuchsia, they could be seen by pedestrians walking across the Sidra far down below.

While the other members of the Inner Circle had chosen homes deep in the heart of the city, Azriel preferred to occupy one on the outskirts. The view was unsurpassed. From his rooftop deck he could easily see both Mor and Cassian's neighboring townhouses as well as Rhys' home and Amren's loft lining the Sidra. The port was also visible to him, as well as all roads leading into the city. Though they were heavily guarded, Azriel preferred to have them in his sights. So even though Rhysand had told him time and again that him he was no sentry, Azriel could still keep watch over the city he loved, the only place he had ever felt at home.

The sun was setting, coloring the cloudless sky a rosy orange. Lights were beginning to flicker on, the first coming from the Rainbow, welcoming in the evening. Soon the view would morph into one of a sparkling city, teaming with music and laughter.

Cassian's siphons, their deep glow somewhat stunted in the waning light, calmly reflected the agitation in his eyes. He was silent now, waiting for the answer that Azriel didn't want to give.

"I think not." He said finally, flexing his wings in preparation for Cassian's response.

Instead of raging, however, Cassian merely crossed over to a small cart that lay by a velvet upholstered chaise and poured a drink for himself. After swallowing a large gulp, he stepped to Azriel's side. Azriel turned his gaze back to the cityscape, shadows creeping up his back and around his wings.

"Feyre was asking after you." Cassian said gruffly. "Rhys wanted to, I could tell."

"Is that all?" Azriel said, his voice low and indifferent.

Cassian huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, your High Lord and Lady are asking for you. That's _all_."

Azriel flinched deep down, the move unnoticeable even to a warrior of Cassian's skill level. He couldn't go on like this for much longer. Loyalty to his people, to Rhys, after all he had done was screaming inside of him. Clearly, they were already suspicious.

He shrugged, fighting against his instinct. "I was ill."

A boldly simple lie. Cassian wouldn't believe it. Neither, Azriel guessed, would Feyre. But Rhys might...

"Ill." Cassian repeated, flatly.

"It happens." Azriel said, trying to sound amiable.

"And now?" Cassian baited.

"It would be rude to show up to our High Lady's party already intoxicated." Azriel said, without hesitation.

Brows raised, Cassian finally turned to look at his friend and fellow warrior.

"You're not-"

Before he could finish speaking, Azriel lifted his glass to his lips and drained it completely. A pleasant, but none too familiar, warmth flooded his tan cheeks and the heavy weight on his chest lessened some. Had he not been so shocked, Cassian would have burst into laughter. Rarely had he seen Azriel drink so heavily. He watched as the shadows surrounded Azriel turned a deeper shade of black, traces of lingering sunlight fleeing in the presence of such darkness.

Frowning, he asked, "What's going on?"

He knew Azriel didn't have an answer for him. Just as Azriel knew there was no point in crafting another lie for Cassian. They had seen too much, done too much together for such infantile games. Nevertheless, Azriel's eyes narrowed as they caught sight of _her_ home.

_Mor._

If she had told Cassian...he would not be here questioning him. He would coaxing him out for another drink or a sparring match. Or a hunting trip deep in the mountains or a trip to one of the dancing halls to engage in a different sort of hunting. But here he was, trying to get him to attend a party. Azriel wondered if Mor had told Rhys or Amren. Cassian would likely be the last to know.

_No. Had she told anyone...they would be here. Even against their better judgement._

Until they all knew, Azriel wasn't going to open his mouth or offer any explanation for his behavior. But this wasn't even about Mor. At least, not entirely. The pain was still there yes. The shame and humiliation he brought upon himself. But they were small compared to the worry that had plagued him for three days. That had kept him up nights. He didn't want Mor to see him this way. To misunderstand. To think herself guilty. Responsible for this...this...whatever it was that had taken hold of him. This ache.

For three days, he had gone to the clearing at dawn. And waited for her. The girl whose name he didn't even know. Couldn't know.

And she hadn't come. Neither had the wolf. He waited for hours, but no living thing breached the tree line.

So he was trapped by his own stubbornness, unable to leave knowing that the chance of seeing her again, however slight, still existed. What if she did come and he wasn't there? He couldn't bare to think on it. So he waited, replaying their last encounter in his head, searching for an answer to the question that had become a steady presence in the back of his mind.

_What had he done to scare her away that day?_

Try as he might, he couldn't find an answer. He had startled her by the river yes, but she had stayed that first day. And returned the next day. And the next.

Azriel sighed, calling a shadow to reach for the stately bottle that sat, now half empty, on the cart. Cassian caught hold of it before Azriel could pull it into his grasp.

"Az," he said, pointedly. But aside from grabbing his friend by the collar and beating an answer out of him, Cassian wasn't sure what to do. Or say. It had been a long, long time since he had seen Azriel in such a state. In fact, he could pinpoint the exact day. They had been much younger then. Mor had winnowed into their camp. Her eyes were hot and her movements steadfast...every ounce of her attention targeting Cassian.

Cassian cringed, the memory and its consequences still burning like a fresh wound inside of him. He hated himself for doing it. Hated the look on Azriel's face. The same one he saw now. The one he was certain Azriel wasn't aware he was making. Cassian would have dropped his concern if Mor too was refusing to attend the party. It would make sense that something had transpired between them. But with Vivianne and Kallias visiting, Mor had been as involved with the planning as Feyre. They had been excitedly preparing the House of Wind all damn day. So if it wasn't a fight with Mor...Cursing under his breath, Cassian returned the bottle and glass to the cart, tempted to smash it to the ground and watch the liquid spill across the floor. He hitched one foot onto the balcony, wings stretching wide.

"I'm not making excuses for you," He said, looking back at Azriel. The shadowsinger hadn't moved, his eyes still trained on the horizon, glassy and grim. "And next time...I'm sending Amren."

Cassian lept from the roof, his wings carrying him down across the city and into town.

Azriel watched him, nostrils flaring. Amren. The very mention of her getting involved was more than a veiled threat. That Cassian would stoop to such a level should have been enough to stir him to action. But Azriel felt...nothing. No annoyance. No anger. No apprehension at the thought of Amren falling from the sky with talons turned on him, those eyes still snakelike even in her new body. Such a terrifying image; one that would bring even the most powerful of fae, trembling to their knees...didn't reach him. His heart was blocked by a circle of black, one that grew each day he found himself alone.

Azriel turned his gaze to the South, to the human lands miles upon miles away. His resolve now steeled. His mind made up. He would continue to visit the clearing. And if he didn't see her by the week's end...then he would venture into the human lands. And he would find her.

* * *

Bryn was up before the morning sun had risen. A week had passed and while her back was still sore, the shallow wounds had healed and her work had picked up again. What remained was a different sort of pain, a steady ache that vibrated through her with each heartbeat. Dread. She tried not to look to the mountains each morning, tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach that willed her feet to move towards the forest, tried not to think of Azriel waiting there for her. Seven days had already come and gone, perhaps he already thought her done with him.

_Nothing could be further from the truth._ She told herself. She had spent hours trying to think up a believable excuse, someway she could communicate to him, but aside from leaving again and risking an even greater punishment, she had nothing.

After dressing, she slipped quietly through the house to attend to the morning chores before her brothers woke. It was the first day of the week and there was much to be done. Not bothering with shoes, she exited the house and headed towards the stables, tying a sun-faded cornflower blue apron around her waist as she walked. The grass, flush from showers that had fallen throughout the night, tickled her feet.

She reached into the pocket of her tunic, fingering a small handful of sugar cubes she had swiped from the kitchen. Her family had raised a small pack of horses, each one of them a beautiful, strapping Friesian. As a child, Bryn had been terrified of their towering figures and marble black eyes, but working with them was now one of her great joys. Belka, the eldest, raised his head when he heard her approaching and chuffed; knocking his shiny mane around. Bryn smiled. Though she longed to speak to them, coo sweet nothings in their ears, she had discovered years ago that somehow they knew. Without words, she could speak to them. A touch there, a glance here. Belka, his eyes even blacker than Azriel's shadows, could see through her limitations. She was grateful to have them the creatures that humored her. "Listened" to her.

She pulled one square of sugar holding it flat on her palm. He gratefully snuffed it up as she ran her hand up and down the length of his head. After repeating the process with his brothers, Samson & Fell, she pulled up her hair tying it back at the base of her neck with a bit of ribbon. Reaching for a pitchfork, she began to shovel hay into each enclosure. The chickens and goats were next. After fishing four eggs from the hen house and scattering their breakfast over the ground, she headed for the well at the northern end of the property. It took four trips of lugging until she had enough water for the washing and by the time she had finished she could already feel a familiar soreness growing in her arms. Shrugging it off, she moved back to the house to prepare breakfast for her brothers. She hoisted three logs into the fireplace. The pile was low.

_I'll need to cut more before Roman notices._ She noted, striking a match against the stone basin and setting the logs alight. Bryn rounded the large dining table and began to pull together a hearty breakfast. Knowing the smell of burning cedar would wake her brothers, she worked quickly. Slicing into a loaf of bread she had prepared last week and breaking open each of the four eggs over a slowly heating pan over the crackling flames.

Roman and Lorens were the eldest of her four brothers and they had inherited the land after her father's death. While Lorens was happy to tend the orchards and go into town to sell the spoils, Roman found giving orders was more his style. He spent most days away, trading stories with his father's friends at the local pub, boxing with the other bachelors his age on the outskirts of town or hunting in the southern woods. But even Roman, for all his hollering and bulging sinew, didn't dare to cross into the fae lands.

The younger two, Isaac and Gareth, were aimless. Knocking off Lorens requests for help, preferring to spend their days in town with Roman chasing girls and causing trouble. Bryn didn't mind it though, it was relief to see them trot off to town. As long as they were gone she could complete her work in piece. Otherwise…

"Morning, Bryn," Isaac said with a smile, creeping up behind her and smacking a hand across her back. All the air in her lungs left her in a rush and she clutched at the counter as the impact radiated across her still healing skin.

"Oh," Isaac feigned, not bothering to hide a vile grin. He shrugged. "I forgot."

Bryn kept her eyes trained on her work. Knowing all too well that revealing even the slightest hint of pain or anger would only encourage him further. _Don't look at him. Don't do it._

He stood close behind her, sucking in a breath. "You smell like shit, Bryn. Were you sleeping with the goats last night?"

Bryn bit down on her lip, her cheeks flushing. She realized, far too late, that he was probably right. With only three garments to call her own, it wasn't often that she had the chance to wear something clean. Inexplicably, her thoughts drifted to Azriel again and a fresh stab of mortification shot through her...could he smell it on her too? The dirt and the muck and the sweat? She spun, turning her head away from Isaac to grab a plate, hoping he didn't sense that his words had hit their mark.

Isaac dropped down into the chair at the head of the table, hitching one foot on the bench to his left and stretching his spindly arms far above his head.

"Roman said I could join him on the hunt tomorrow," Isaac drawled. Bryn only shoved a plate in front of him, knowing that the eggs were not quite cooked to his liking. It was a pathetic attempt at a slight, but it did make her feel better. 

"Hey," Isaac hissed, catching her wrist as she walked away. His grip tightened as he pulled her back. She stumbled into position, strings of curly hair falling into her face. She tried to mask her rising heartbeat with a blum look, but couldn't be certain how effective it was. He glared up at her with those wicked green eyes. Eyes that Bryn had, in her darkest of dreams, imagined sticking a knife through with great pleasure. "I'm talking to you."

Bryn exhaled. _Is that all?_ She made her face an empty mask, cocking her head to one side as if she were suddenly interested.

"Roman said I can join the hunt, isn't that great?" Isaac repeated. "Out in the woods for five whole days."

_Great._ Bryn thought, steeling herself as her blood warmed. As if she cared about anything they did. It was a pathetic attempt to get a rise out of her. While he was free to roam, she would be confined to the house. If only Gareth was going along with them too, leaving only Lorens. He had, on the rare occasion, been lax when it came to Roman's rules. Gareth, on the other hand, the youngest of the four only two years Bryn's senior, would be bored which meant he would be watching her like a hawk, following her around like a leashed dog making sure she didn't step out of line.

It was Roman that put her to work. Roman that decided when and how she was punished for even the smallest of "disobediences." But it was Isaac who truly reveled in doling them out. She could see it in his eyes, feel it when he touched her. A shiver wrenched through her spine at the thought of it.

She pursed her lips but nodded, hoping her eyes didn't give away her complete lack of interest and disdain. Thankfully, Roman stepped through the door, bleary eyed and yawning. Isaac, knowing his place in the pecking order, hopped out of the chair and slid down the bench, dragging his plate along with him. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bryn hurriedly made her eldest brother a plate and the busied herself with the others. Roman didn't look at her when she set a larger plate in front of him. Bryn, returned to the fireplace, brushing away a fine blanket of ash that was beginning to accumulate and dumping it into a pale next to the wood pile. She dusted her hands on the hem of her skirt, cleaning them of the dark powdery substance.

"Firewood's low," Roman said between bites. Bryn halted, but registered that there was no annoyance in his voice. She spun and nodded, a silent plea for excusal. Roman only tilted his head gruffly and Bryn hurried out the back door. Once outside, she felt the confines of the cabin drift away as she breathed in the cool air. Not willing to risk another punishment, she searched for the axe and, after finding it, heading to the back of the barn to do some chopping. Although it was a laborious task, Bryn found she enjoyed it more than others. It was a balm, to say the least, to imagine each unsuspected log as Isaac's head, and running it through with a strength none of her brothers really understood she was capable of. 

* * *

_The next day..._

Dark clouds rolled across the orchards sending a chill through the air. Spring rain had fallen throughout the night and was threatening a swift return. Banks of fog, thin and eery, blocked out the mountains of Prythian. A respite for Bryn, but not one that was particularly welcomed. It was quickly becoming a habit she couldn't shake. The adrenaline, the rush of euphoria, she felt when imagining the clearing was fleeting, but she still found it worth the inevitable crash that followed. Even though it turned her stomach, sick she couldn't help but imagine him there. Waiting for her.

_He has to be._ She thought as her heart dropped into her stomach. The alternative was too much to bear.

Another gust of wind knocked around the thick, bowed leaves of the peach tree she was perched in. Her legs, bare and ticked with small scratches accumulated during her climb, trembled against the cold. Lorens stood below her, catching the fruit she dropped down before inspecting it and tossing it into one of four bushels. He was much thinner than his brothers, having no interested in building up his body weight. His slight form was topped with thick curls just like Bryn's. When the wind subsided they both looked to the house several acres away. Roman was calling to them. Lorens cast Bryn a tired look before trekking through the trees. He picked up his pace when Roman bellowed again, his impatience palpable to even Bryn.

Bryn leaned her back against the base of the tree, reveling in the sense of peace that was slowly creeping over her. For five days Roman and Isaac would be gone. Confined or not, she felt a weight begin to lift away. Her eyes fluttered shut and she loosed a long sigh, imagining shadows like Azriel's slipping from her mouth and disappearing with the wind.

"They're leaving."

She looked down to see Lorens had returned.

"All three of them." He finished.

Bryn cocked her head to the side, slow to take in his words. Understanding, she popped up, gripping a higher branch and pulling herself up the tree until her head breached the canopy. Sure enough, she could see two of the horses drawn and a third body walking alongside them heading south down the stamped dirt road that led into town.

"I convinced Roman to take Gareth with him." Lorens continued, lifting a hand up to grasp one of the lower branches.

Wide eyed and questioning, Bryn looked down to her brother. She never saw him smile, but there was a light in his eye, a warmth that the other's had never possessed.

"Come on," He commanded softly. "That's enough for today."

Still wary, Bryn slowly navigated through the branches and leapt down from the tree. Lorens was there to catch her, his hands at her waist. He lifted his hand to tug a leaf from her hair.

"I'll be going into town soon." He said, bending down to pick up the heaviest of the bushels.

Bryn expected as much. While her other brothers seemed content to leer at women and at times engage in a one and done lay, Lorens had been nursing a relationship with the baker's daughter Corrine for close to five years.

_That's why he sent Gareth with them._ Bryn thought, hoisting up two of the bushels. _He wants to spend time with her._

She followed him back to the house, the gears in her head turning.

"I won't be back tonight." He continued, running a hand through his dusty gold hair after dropping the bushel to the ground in front of the cart.

Bryn's heart jumped into her throat. Roman was gone. Isaac was gone. And now Gareth. What was left of her common sense, the thread that struggled to hold her back broke apart. She brushed passed Lorens heading towards the door. He would not try to stop her. He had never cared what she did, never tried to give her orders or join in on her brother's tricks. She was free to go. For five whole days. If she left now she could make it before noon, but she would need to change. And if the rains came-

"Bryn," Lorens called.

Bryn stopped, freezing up. She turned to face him, hair flying about. Lorens was looking at the ground, a deep frown etched on his long features. He sighed, hitching his arms at his waist.

"Tell me," He said, still averting his gaze. "And be honest. Where are you going?"

It was rare for one of her brother's, even Lorens, to ask her a question that couldn't easily be answered with a yes or no. Even rarer that they cared to hear the answer at all. But Lorens was looking at her now, his eyes the same as hers, the ones they shared with their long gone mother. But no amount of pleading would coax the truth from her. She couldn't risk Roman or Isaac finding out. And it would be foolish to think she could trust Lorens with her secret. As if she were even capable of explaining. Eyes darting, mind racing, Bryn settled on a shrug and simply pointed to the northern hills. A half truth would do. 

"Into the woods." Lorens said flatly, doubt laced in his words.

Bryn nodded, hoping a small grin would be enough to appease him. Feeling the pull of time, she spun around and headed to the house.

"Why?"

Bryn swallowed, halting again. Her eyes slipped shut before she turned, morphing her face into one of cool indifference.

"You're meeting with someone." Lorens ventured. "Aren't you?"

Bryn paled. She had to go. She had to go _now_.

So, against her better judgment she nodded slowly. Mechanically.

She looked toward the tree line and her eyes widened. Standing there, exposed and vulnerable, was her friend. The wolf; it's white fur even starker now that the sun was blocked out. Bryn pointed out to him, Lorens following her gesture.

"I-the...that wolf pup?" Lorens realized, gently incredulous. "From all those years ago?"

Bryn nodded again.

He looked back, eyeing the creature warily. Bryn waited none too patiently.

"The wall is down," He said, finally. Gravely. "You need to be careful out there. If something happens...Roman will come for both of us."

Bryn wasn't listening. She turned again, rushing to the door, but Lorens followed her catching her hand.

"Bryn," He said, his voice marred by something Bryn couldn't recognize.

"Please, you need to listen to me," Lorens said. He paused, swallowing hard. "There's talk of...sending you back. To him."

All of her excitement drained away. Shards of ice stabbed through her, melting to her feet and filling her up until her body felt so heavy she could hardly imagine moving at all.

"So be careful." Lorens said, more gruffly this time. He released her hand. "And promise me, you'll be back."

Shivering, Bryn met her brother's gaze with fierce determination. The words she could speak were clearly visible in the dark pools of her eyes.

_I promise._

* * *

_This isn't right._ Bryn thought.

Clouds whirled in the sky above her. A storm was coming.

_Is that all this shivering is about?_ She thought, panting as she hurried up the hillside stepping over fallen trees and knocking aside low hanging branches. She had memorized the path she took, even though it was not written into the ground. Even after eight days, she could recognize the landmarks she had put to memory. The large rock overgrown by thick vines. The small dip in the valley where pale mushrooms grew in the heavy shade of the towering redwood trees. The bones of a long dead beast, white as death against the deep warmth of the healthy soil it rested upon.

She was close. But...something wasn't right.

She had been imagining this moment for days now. Dreaming about it. Desperate to feel the mountain leaves beneath her feet. The smells of forest decay stinging her nose. The soft light of the due covered clearing. She had been happy in those dreams, giddy with anticipation, smiling wide, even laughing.

She felt none of that now. Unease had been bubbling in her stomach since she had left the farm. Clad now in a muslin tunic, over a deep brown underdress that fell to her knees. It was the only clothing she owned that kept all of her scars carefully covered.

The further she climbed, the heavier she felt. Muddled thoughts needled her brain, each one piercing holes of doubt into her resolve.

_It's fear._ She told herself. _If he's not there...if he's not…_

A low growl sounded behind her. She looked down. The wolf, her friend, was following her still. As silent as a ghost, weaving between the trees. She had thought once to give him a name. 'Spirit' had come to mind. But it felt wrong, to give such a wild creature a title. To bind it to her unwillingly. As if she had the right to do so.

She slowed so he could catch up. He brushed up against her legs, the smallest of whines reaching her ears. Bending down, she ran her hand over his head. She spoke her question in her head, dark eyes meeting amber ones.

_What is it?_

The creature huffed, poking at her cheek with it's wet, black nose. A sliver of a grin tugged at her lips. She wrapped one arm around it's neck and squeezed lightly.

_I missed you too._ She thought. The wolf slid from her grasp, rounding her and stretched one massive paw up in the air. Only to drag it down her back igniting a stinging trail along her spine.

Seething silently, Bryn scrambled to her feet and shot an accusatory glare at the animal hitching both hands on her waist. Unperturbed, the wolf just glared back up at her.

Realizing what it wanted, Bryn huffed and took up her trek.

_I'm not going to tell him._ She thought, shaking her head. _Never._

She sensed the wolf only start to move again when she was several dozen feet away, mere seconds from the clearing. She stopped, positioning herself in front of a tree that blocked most of her view. Inhaling deeply, she let her forehead rest against the bark, and made one last attempt to calm her fluttering heart.

_If he's not there..._ She thought, her stomach swaying. _It's alright. I can come back tomorrow. I can wait today. And tomorrow. And...he'll come._

It was a lie. She knew it. But lies had saved her before. Staved the pain. Hoarded her hope. There had been days where the lies she told herself were all she had. And they had been enough to get her through.

Opening her eyes, she stepped around the tree, eyes searching.

He wasn't there.

Lips parting, Bryn loosed a pained sigh and dropped down to grassy floor. Her arms fell uselessly to her sides and she shivered as a wave of disappointment wracked through her system. She had been gone too long. Far too long.

_No,_ she thought. _It's alright. It's...still early. I don't think I ever made it out here this early. He could still come. Maybe it's the storm. Or...or…_

Hope shriveled. Her words felt empty and hollow, even in her head under her control. Her sorrow ebbed as the morning slowly turned to afternoon, but Bryn didn't dare to open her eyes. Instead, she allowed for dark images to flood her vision. Streaks of shadows, locks of jet black hair, hazel eyes somehow darker even than the shadows; yet marred by flecks of gold light. Shimmering, shuttering and warm.

With her sense of sight unused, her ears picked up on a familiar sound. The wilting of grass under a quiet footfall. Thinking it was the nameless wolf again, her only friend, she opened her eyes; ready to pierce him with a baleful admission knowing it would be taunting her with that "i told you so" look he was always casting in her direction.

But it wasn't her friend. It was Azriel.

Gasping, she stumbled to her feet. Somehow, yet again, he was more beautiful than she remembered. Her weak human memory marring his visage. She could hardly believe it, even though she wanted to, but there he was. Smiling. At her.

Even after she had made him wait all those days. Even though she had no intention of explaining her absence to him. Her joy gave way almost instantly to something much darker. Had she shadows of her own, they would've swallowed her up then and there.

"I'm sorry," He said, "I was held up."

_He_ was apologizing to her. As though he had done wrong. As if he were to blame. Feeling foolish, almost dizzy with shame, she shot a flurry of curses through her head. How could she be so idiotic? Azriel, whatever he was, he wasn't human. But he was beautiful...quiet and kind. Kinder than any man she had ever known. Somehow she was certain of that much, even though she hardly knew him.

Why would a creature like that, night incarnate, bother with her?

She huffed, a pathetic attempt to will away the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes.

_Stupid girl._ She thought. _Roman's right. They're all right. What was I thinking coming back here?_

Bryn shook her head, numbness crawling over her. He had come. Every day it seemed. It was what she wanted, but now...She felt dirty; contrite. He had waited for her. Even though she had given him nothing. Could give him nothing. No explanation. No excuse. A tear slipped down her cheek to her chin.

_I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have-_

She was going to cry, she could feel it coming. She had to escape. Had to run before he saw. She grabbed at her skirt, stepped backwards and moved to leave.

"Wait!, Please-" Azriel said, not a command. Not an order. But a plea. "I don't mean to-"

Bryn shook her head more vigorously, hating herself. Hating the curse. For years she had gone without speaking. Without caring about it really. She may have been annoyed that she couldn't talk back to her brothers. Fling insults at them. Those feelings were fleeting though. They were nothing but dangerous whims brought on by the anger that had lit her insides since her birth. But she could forget her anger. Even ignore her emptiness. But now...she wanted to explain. To make him understand. To set him free of whatever misguided obligation brought him back here each day to wait for her. It wasn't fair; it wasn't right. She let go of her dress, pushing her hands out, palms flat, then pointing away.

_Go._ She mouthed, as the word bubbled up in her throat only to find it was trapped and powerless. _Please go._

Azriel only stepped closer, his face like a sea; the surface calm with unexplored depths lying just below. Equal parts dangerous and dazzling. Bryn was desperate to know what lay underneath. Desperate but frightened. The truth was always frightening with men. The truth always hurt.

She jumped as something brushed against her hands, then took hold of them. Eyes fluttering, blurred by tears, she searched for the source. Azriel, he was there. Right in front of her. Gently taking hold of her hands and putting a stop to her frantic gesturing.

_Impossible._ Bryn thought, _He was all the way- too far away. To be here. Right here so quickly. But...he's not human. He's something...something else._

She choked on a sob, but didn't dare try to pull away. Knowing all too well what would happen. What had happened to her, time and time again, when she tried to deny the men she had known. Fear poured from her heart like poison, saturating her veins. Azriel it seemed, could sense it. He released her hands immediately. And stepped back. The visage of calm melted away, replaced by concern so pained that Bryn's fear evaporated and she remembered how to breath.

"What is it?" Azriel asked, his voice thick. "Has something happened?"

Bryn's head cleared, the tears evaporated and instinct took hold. He stepped back. He let her go. He...listened to her.

For one fleeting second she considered telling him why she hadn't come. But as she tried to figure out a way to explain. She knew she couldn't. Whatever he saw in her...it would change. He would start to look at her the way the people in town did, wary and pitying. And she couldn't take anymore of that. No, it was better this way. Azriel couldn't know. It would be too dangerous. Too messy.

After a deep inhale, Bryn shook her head. Slowly this time. Succinctly. She bowed her head, allowing the shame to overwhelm her. She wanted to throw herself down and tell him how sorry she was, but without the words she didn't know what to do.

"You don't need to apologize."

Bryn's head flung up again at his words, at the softness and surety in his voice. Her eyes were wide, her question clearly written on her face. She shook her head again, placing a hand on her chest and mouthing words too quickly for Azriel to follow. Except that he knew, he could sense, what she wanted to say. He knelt down next to her, offering her a small smile.

"Please," he said. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

Bryn's ears rang. Her face became flush and she looked away.

_Yes_ , she thought, smiling back at him. _We're here. Together._


	4. Chapter 3

"I brought you something." Azriel said, lowering himself to the ground and tucking his wings in behind him. 

Bryn pointed to herself; nerves sparking in her chest. _Me?_

She watched him unroll a pack of velvety fabric and begin to lay out the items hidden inside. First, there were sheets of beautifully woven parchment. Two pens, both gilded in gold. A tray crafted of fruitwood. And finally, a small book bound in emerald green leather. Bryn had never seen anything like it before. 

All the air in her lungs left in a whoosh as her mind pieced it all together. _Is this…? He can't mean…_

She fought the itch to reach out and touch, needing the physical validation.

"I thought I could teach you to write," He said, his touch careful and precise as he assembled the tools on the wooden tray, nudging the pens here and there. Once he was satisfied he looked up and balked.

"What is it?" He asked, gently.

Bryn distracted by her own disbelief didn't hear him at first. She looked up, angling her head to the side as she took in the concern painted on his normally stoic features.

"You're, um," Azriel started bashfully, running a hand through his wind-tossed hair trying to find the right word. "Well, you're…"

Unable to, he lifted two fingers and touched them to the skin just under his eye. Bryn instinctively mimicked the action, lifting her hand to her own face, her skin going red when she felt a definite wetness just underneath. She hastily wiped it away, dark eyes dodging his gaze, so penetrating she could hardly string a coherent thought together.

_No one has ever offered to teach me._ She thought, lips parting in a frustrated huff as she tried to think up a way to gesture the words. She lifted her hands in the air, searching for someway to describe the depths of her gratitude, only to bring them down quickly when no solution came to mind. She wanted so desperately to speak, to tell him how much it meant to her. For years she had been unable to communicate. The curse was like a wall around her, invisible as it was impenetrable. Long ago, she was able to convince herself it didn't matter. That she didn't need to speak. Living with the curse was better than the the alternative, after all. There were days, however, when it was downright damning. She couldn't speak her mind or defend herself and there were times when she thought she would go mad from the rage it stirred up in her. She was trapped within herself and she had no means of escape. But even that was bearable. She had no friends, no one she really wanted to talk with or get to know.

Until now.

Bryn dared to meet Azriel's gaze. She never dreamed she would meet someone like him. Late at night, while she spun fantasies in her heard she often wondered if she dreamed him up. It seemed too good to be true. Had she really found someone patient enough to weather the struggles with silence, someone who 'listened' to her despite it all? Was it perhaps because he didn't know what had happened? Who had cursed her and why?

She didn't want to to think on it.

_But is does mean,_ She thought, _that he's not doing this out of pity. Or even empathy._

Here he was. Offering her the world in the form of a tool she could use, one that would change her life. Even though she had nothing to offer him in return.

Overwhelmed, Bryn didn't think twice before lunging forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. His scent, tinged with citrus and traces of a wonderfully alien flower, enveloped her. His chest felt like stone, cool and powerful. Bryn's lips parted and she sighed, holding tightly to him.

Azriel's wings unfurled, an instinctual reaction. His arms hovered at his sides, hesitant to touch her. She smelled of fresh soil and pine, he could feel her heart fluttering in her chest against his. Stunned but delirious, his eyes slipped shut as he moved to wrap his arms around her. But she pulled back, the color in her cheeks even deeper than before. She touched her hand to her chest, right above her heart. Then lifted it and reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. A new gesture to add to their ever growing dictionary.

Azriel nodded in understanding, a fierce determination in his eyes. "You're welcome."

Bryn smiled, shoulders drooping in relief.

"Shall we get started?" He asked, picking up one of the pens.

Nodding excitedly, Bryn slid closer to him and planted her hands on the ground so she could lean over the tray. She watched with wide eyes as he guided the quill across the page. His scarred hand moved with practiced precision as he wrote out each symbol. Twenty-six total. Although able to maintain a stolicmask, Azriel's skinned warmed where hers had pressed up against him. Shadows curled around his neck, silently tittering their own surprise. She had caught him off guard, something many a skilled enemy had been unable to accomplish.

"There are twenty-six letters," He explained, softly. "That make up all words."

He touched his pen to each one, naming them and sounding them out. Bryn listened, head spinning as she took it all in. The clearing seemed to melt away. There was only Azriel's voice, talking her through the alphabet.

As he spoke, her wolf-friend appeared from the shade of the trees. Stalking over to them slowly, it's eyes as per usual trained on Azriel; watching his every move. Azriel in turn, kept his gaze fixed on the creature, but Bryn didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were trained on the pages, watching Azriel drag the pen across the page as if hypnotized. The wolf huffed in a show of annoyance. Azriel didn't bother to hide his smirk. Bryn lifted a hand, feeling blindly in the air for the wolf's head, but didn't bother to look up. The creature snorted but pushed his head forward to meet her hand for a brief pat. He then dropped to the grassy floor, resting his head against Bryn's barefoot and let his eyes droop shut. 

Azriel continued on, explaining the name and sound of each letter as he retraced them with his pen. Then he offered her the pen.

"Would you like to try?"

Bryn eyed it nervously, butterflies stirring in her stomach.

_Azriel's writing is so lovely._ She thought, thinking back. Only Roman and Lorens knew how to read and write. In comparison, their lettering looked primitive and grossly simple; always smudged with mistakes.

_I can't imagine mine would look any different._ She thought, flushing with embarrassment.

Azriel, as if reading her mind said, "It took time...for me to learn."

Bryn looked up at him.

"It wasn't until I was much older that I was afforded the opportunity." He continued.

The shadows surrounding him pulsed ominously causing a chill to rake down Bryn's spine and pool in her gut. There was a story there, something in those eyes...a darkness that she recognized. One that she too had known. Intimately. She wanted to ask him about it; wanted to know if just maybe she had found someone who could understand the shadow in her heart.

_But I'll never be able to if I don't learn how to write._ She thought and plucked the pen from his hand. Her move pulled Azriel from whatever memory had consumed him. He guided a fresh piece of paper closer to her side of the tray. Bryn reached out for it, her question reflected in her eyes. Nodding, Azriel shifted it onto her lap.

"A" comes first," He said, shifting closer so that he could peer over her shoulder. Bryn nodded, holding the pen steady in her right hand. "And- yes, like that, good."

Bryn dragged the pen up and then down, trying to copy the flourished curl that Azriel had made. It was difficult to keep her hand steady.

"You should hold it like this," Azriel said, placing his hand over hers. Gently, but firmly, he moved her thumb over. Bryn started, looking over her shoulder. His face was so close, only a breath of space between them.

_If I just moved forward a little bit-_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a large, chilly splash of water hitting her nose. She jolted backwards, eyes blinking rapidly. Azrie breathed a laugh, so quiet Bryn was certain she imagined it.

They both looked up. The sky had darkened and a bevy of raindrops began to fall from the sky.

_Of course._ Bryn thought, a tired sigh escaping her lips. She looked down at the paper. The droplets had smeared the ink, turning her practice page into an illegible mess. She loosed a small cry, running her hand over the page. Wet ink clung to her fingers and bled through the damp page. Azriel lifted her hand away.

"Shall we continue tomorrow?" He asked, releasing her hand.

Bryn smiled sadly and nodded. She watched with a heavy heart as Azriel gathered up the supplies he brought, wings unfurling. He tucked the pack under one arm and offered her his hand. Bryn took it and let him pull her to her feet.

They held fast to each other, eyes connecting unable to look away.

Tomorrow seemed too long to wait. For a split second she wondered what would happen if she asked him to take her with him.

"Goodbye," He said, interrupting the reverie. His hand fell away.

Bryn waved until he had breached the trees and disappeared from sight.

* * *

Rarely did Azriel find himself plagued by nerves. Worry was one thing. Having brothers like Cassian and Rhys practically demanded he worry. But this was different. His time spent in darkness had stripped him of trivial fears; had made him what he was. A Shadowsinger. Spymaster to the greatest of the High Lords. An indispensable warrior and advisor, one that had survived two wars and helped assure victory in both. So at first, he didn't recognize the signs. The elevated heart rate, the snakes churning angrily in his stomach, the lack of appetite. It wasn't until he found himself unable to sleep, shadows trembling restlessly around him, catching specks of starlight that filtered through his window, did he realize that something was wrong.

He hadn't felt this way since...since he had found Mor on that fateful day, hundreds of years ago. He had buried that memory in the darkest caverns of his heart. Banished it along with the rest of them. But here it was again, searing into his head. Hotter than any burn. He had felt this way even days before finding her. He hadn't understood then either. Why he felt so uneasy. It wasn't until he found her. Bleeding in the snow that he knew he had been right to act on intuition.

Azriel rose suddenly from bed, his mind fully awake now. If he was feeling it again, that sickly sensation, did it mean something had happened to Mor? Nerves turned to panic, the ache threatening to tear his heart to ribbons. His wings unfurled, shadows surging around him until they all but filled the room completely.

_No._ He thought, trying to collect himself. His shadows trembled, touching the stained glass of his window as if trying to break through it and pull him into the night. _Nothing's happened. What could possibly have happened? We are at peace. Finally._

He repeated the words to himself, calling the shadows back. No word had come from Rhys. The sentries had not called for him. His ring of spies, their number lessen in peacetime, but no less active had not been roused. He looked through the window to the expanse of city lights, drawing his shadows back in. They came reluctantly, still riddled with nervous energy. His gaze trailed along the Sidra until it landed on Mor and Cassian's block.

_You need to let her be,_ said another voice in his head. One that had been silent for far too long. _She doesn't want you in that way. She-_

Azriel swallowed, a familiar pain now kindling in his head.

_She never did. Not in that way._

He inhaled through his nose, letting out the air in one long, sustained sigh through parted lips. Leaning forward, his forehead met the cool glass. He lifted his hand, fingers grazing the window.

_If it isn't Mor. Or the Court of Dreams. Or any part of Prythian…_

The girl. An image flashed through his head. He had been happy...no _relieved_ to see her there after days of absence. He hadn't stopped to think...hadn't asked her why she had been absent. His brows knit together and he replayed the image again, searching for signs. Of what he didn't know.

She seemed...happy and healthy for a human. Freckled skin made paler by the long winter. She wasn't thin like Feyre had been when Mor had rescued her from the Spring Court. She had some muscle to her, more than he had expected given his experience with human women. Although even he could admit, they had much still to learn about them. 

His shadows were whispering now, attesting to his suspicions. There was something...off. The frown etched in his face deepened. He hadn't seen it; either because he wasn't looking or didn't want to. But if it wasn't outwardly visible, that meant she was hiding something. Normally, he could sense these things. Sense the truth of a person's feelings, hear the words they didn't say aloud, tell almost immediately when they were about to lie. It had taken years for him to understand that other Illyrians and High Fae didn't operate this way. That they couldn't see what was so clear to him. As clear as a cloudless sky.

He replayed their first encounter over again. Then the second and third. Humans were always easier to discern. Their understanding of magic and it's relation to the world was so tenuous and their lives so short that it made them easy to see.

_But this girl..._ He walked back to his bed and lowered himself down. His wings twitched in agitation. He hated this. Not knowing.

He rested his arms on his knees, catching his head in his hands.

_She was cold._ He thought, remembering the feel of her hand trembling against his palm. The feel of her skin, soft but chilled.

He shook his head, _That can't be all._

But it wasn't untrue. She was always barefoot, always dressed in torn frocks that seemed ill-fitting and faded with age. Azriel knew little about human economics, his eyes had always been trained on the queens, their armies and their machinations. Farmers in Prythian ran the gambit. Most of them were lucky now that the borders between courts had opened. Trade was flourishing and money flowed. Whether or not the same could be said for the humans Azriel couldn't know. Perhaps there was a way to coax in answer from Feyre.

_The curse maybe._ He reasoned. _It's blocking me...but how? And, why?_

Azriel rose from bed once more, his eyes now trained on the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Wings unfurling, he stepped into his closet to search for a tunic to wear.

* * *

"My Lady, it's been too long!"

Mor managed to return a smile to Lyra, the head shopkeeper of her favorite atelier. The hour was late, already half past 9, but the shop was still bustling thanks in part to the unusual warmth not often attributed to a spring night. Vivianne and Kallias had left just after sunset, having slept and lazed about for most of the day after drinking, dancing and chattering the previous night away. Feyre and Rhys were still in bed, having spent the day doing Cauldron knew what to each other.

Mor's smile grew as she walked around the store, eyeing the latest stock of glittering dresses. She was happy, so happy that peace had finally come. Vivianne and Feyre had become fast friends, just as she had hoped. Now that the war had passed, there was so much to make up for. Stories to tell and retell. Plans to make. Her head spun at the very thought of all there was to do in the coming decades.

_Ugh, why did we open that third bottle?_ Mor bemoaned, holding a hand to her head. She shook it off and focused once more on her shopping. A string of retail therapy always helped to cure her burgeoning hangovers.

"Are you looking for something in particular today?" Lyra asked, her amber eyes sparkling excitedly.

Mor smiled sweetly, she knew Lyra loved to dress her up. "Not today. I won't stay too long."

"If there's anything I can help you with, please let me know." Lyra said, with a short bow before retreating to help a customer.

Mor turned, scrunching her nose. Even after all these years she had never gotten used to such formal displays. She preferred hugs to curtsies and laughter to stilted conversation. The smile in her heart dampened slightly. She approached a particularly glittery scarlet red dress and fingered the fabric, trying to distract herself. But it wasn't enough.

_Cassian..._

He had been attendance at the party, but was far from his usual barking, boisterous self. He had left early that night, having barely spoken to her or anyone else. Except to say…

**_He's not coming_.**

Mor shivered at the anger in those words. But it wasn't directed at her. It wasn't directed at anyone. Not even Az, but at the circumstances as they were. Rhys had, mercifully, sensed that something was wrong with his bastard brothers but spent most of the evening distracting Feyre with ravenous whispers. No doubt her High Lady would be questioning her later, even if Rhys implored her to stay out of it.

_This is just what I didn't want._ She thought, her painted lips turning down. She wondered what Cassian suspected. She was desperate to talk to him about it, but she wanted to give Azriel more time. Still, the waiting was torturous.

_I should go see him._ She thought, rifling through another rack of dresses. _No matter what Feyre says. Tomorrow I'll-_

She looked up mid-thought and nearly pulled a button of the dress she was handling.

"Az?!" She said aloud, slapping a hand over her mouth too late.

Sure enough, Azriel was there. Surveying the racks with his usual indomitable intensity. Mor bit back a giggle. There were other fae in the store, but none of them cast such a formidable stance. Even with his wings tucked tightly against his muscled back, their size and shape was undeniably grand under the low ceiling of such a quaint little shop.

He seemed surprised to see her, too. His cheeks flushed pink and Mor bit down on her lip. She tried to think of something to say to steer the conversation in any direction other than-

"I thought you all would be sleeping still," Azriel said with a small, apologetic smile.

Relieved, Mor returned it.

"So did I," She said, letting the fabric of the dress fall through her fingers.

A heady silence settled between them. Mor swallowed wondering if things would ever return to the way they had been before.

"How are you, Mor?" Azriel said, there was a sadness in his voice. A concern that she was no stranger too. Mor paled, recognizing that look in his eye. The one she had seen on countless occasions but never knew how to placate it.

"I-What are you doing here?" She asked, quickly.

He looked down and Mor realized he was stumbling - _stumbling_ \- over words to find an answer for her.

"Shopping," He said, finally, still refusing to meet her gaze. "For...a friend."

The gears in Mor's head twisted and turned. A friend. Of course, Azriel had friends. Mor could count them all with her two hands alone. Rhys. Cass and Amren. Feyre...and herself. All the rest were acquaintances. Friends of his friends. Or allies. Or subordinates. Or...the occasional lover.

Unable to help herself, Mor folded her hands together behind her back and stepped around the rack

_This must be what Feyre feels like all the time._ Mor thought, a spark of light flushing out some of the blue in her heart.

"Someone I know?" Mor asked lightly. Too lightly. But she knew better than to try and keep her intentions hidden for Az. Even for her it would be a fool's errand.

Fortunately, Azriel only smirked. Mor knew that look, too. The one he bore when he had no intention of cooperating.

"I...could use your help actually." He said.

Mor fought to keep her frown hidden. _Not an answer. Then again, I dodged his question too. So..fair. I guess._

Aside from the depths of his feelings or the few rare dalliances he had undertaken, Azriel told her everything. Every doubt, every worry. She knew things that Rhys (and even Cassian) didn't know. Although she was dying to press him for more information, she bit her tongue.

Aside from the storm of questions swirling in her head, Mor was at a loss for what to say. She had long ago vowed to keep her secret safe no matter what. She never imagined the day would come when she would tell him, never imagined what it would be like once the deed was done.

_I suppose I should've given it some thought._ She pondered, sardonically.

_Is this why he didn't come last night? Was he...with someone?_ Mor was certain he was still avoiding her, unable to face her whether out of confusion or shame or anger she wasn't sure.

_I still don't know what_ I'm _feeling._ She thought, dolefully.

"Right," She said, hoping she sounded cheerful. "What are you looking for?"

Azriel watched her carefully, weighing her reactions. Mor had always been discreet, that he could count on. Even if she was dying to ask him more questions, she wouldn't. Yet. She had known several of Az's lovers, but there were secrets that he kept even from her. And he wasn't yet ready to talk about the girl, he couldn't even explain to Mor who she was…

"Something warm." He said. "A coat maybe?"

Mor beamed, her target already in sight. "Lyra makes the best ones."

"I know," Azriel said distantly. Whatever memory he was lost in, Mor was certain it had to do with her. She had received many a present from him (Cassian almost always tagging in) from Lyra's.

Mor took hold of his hand, pulling him to the other end of the store. "What color?"

Azriel blinked, "I'm not sure."

"Every girl has their favorites." Mor said, dipping her line in the water once more.

"I suppose so," Azriel said, eyeing Mor patiently.

Mor just fixed him with an impish grin.

_This is good._ She told herself; unable to ignore her wariness. _Even if he isn't biting...This is what I want. To be friends like before. Everything as it was before._

She realized now why she had been so scared to tell him the truth. The thought of losing him was too much too bear. And if she couldn't love him, what reason would he have to stay? She had met far too many men like that. Women too.

Azriel thought back. Even after several visits, he could only remember seeing her in one of two outfits. The linen tunic and the brown underdress. Neither had suited her. 

"Something dark," He said, thinking of the soft contrast between her brown hair and moon-kissed complexion. "Blue maybe?"

Mor nodded, turning back to the racks.

"Oh well," She said, eyeing a pristine navy garment. "This is lovely."

She pulled it down, holding it at the shoulders so Azriel could see. True to his request, it was a dark blue; intoned with green like the deep waters of the Sidra under the dim light of a crescent moon. It was crafted of velvety fabric, soft and luxurious.

"It's...perfect," Azriel said, lifting one of the sleeves.

He looked up to find Mor watching him. A smile ghosted over his lips. She had always worn her emotions on her sleeve, and it was no different now. He could see confusion and concern.

"Thank you, Mor." He said, a new warmth in his voice. "I can always count on you...when I need you."

Mor relaxed her shoulders, realizing he must have seen. He always saw.

_Always…_

He turned his gaze back to the coat, inspecting it with care.

_I...I have to know._ Mor thought, fidgeting. She didn't want to intrude. But she didn't want him to get hurt either. Or hurt someone else. Was this just a rebound? A fling? If it was a fling, she couldn't imagine Azriel would bother with gifts. Or...could it be that he did have a...friend. One that none of them knew about.

"I-" Mor started, the questions poised on her lips. A voice deep down silenced her. She hadn't the right to ask. Not anymore. Things felt different because they needed to be different. If they were ever to move beyond this. Things would need to change. Perhaps Azriel had already realized that.

"You're welcome, Az." She said, her voice thick.

She stayed with him as he completed the purchase, chatting with Lyra about the Summer line she was currently developing. The coat was folded into a tan box and tied off with a black, silk ribbon.

They stepped out into the night together, easily folding into the crowds that still lined the streets. Mor looked to the sky, picking at her thumbnail with her index finger. They stopped when they reached the bridge leading to the west end of town.

Azriel nodded a silent goodnight to her, wings stretching wide. He was glad to have seen her without warning. This was foreign territory for both of them. The learning curve was high. and would take time. If he hadn't seen her now...he likely would've staved it off for much longer.

"Azriel," Mor called just before he rose into the air. He paused,

Mor shifted on her feet, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her sweater. _I wonder..._ She thought, sadly. _If this guilt will ever go away._

"We have another dinner in two days," She said, biting down on her lip. "You're...coming, aren't you?"

She restrained herself from pleading with him. If worse came to worse, she could always involve Cassian.

Azriel blanched. He opened his mouth, shadows circling around him, but he didn't have an answer for her.

"I-" He started. He thought of Cassian and Rhys. Of Feyre, the only one who knew. He wasn't ready to face them yet. He didn't even want to know whether or not she had told them. But as he looked down at Mor he knew. He knew he couldn't deny her, couldn't bear to see even an ounce of pain touch her beautiful features.

He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. His face became a mask of calm.

"Yes," He said, his voice low. He maintained eye contact with her, knowing she would be suspicious otherwise.

Mor loosed a breathy laugh. "Good. We...I missed you."

Azriel swallowed down a pang of sadness. _Liar._ He thought. _You're lying and she's going to find out._

He felt sick. He turned his head to the sky, mapping a course in his mind.

"As did I." He said, but the words were hollow. He felt far away as he spoke them.

He turned skyward, shooting into the night like a star. Unable to say goodbye.

Mor watched him go, his silhouette and shadows a beacon of black against the violet night sky.

"One step at a time, Mor," She whispered to herself. "One step at a time."

* * *

Bryn hadn't meant to fall asleep by the fire. That was her second mistake. She had every intention of waking early and heading out into the mountains come morning. In order to do that however, she needed to finish patching the clothes Roman had left behind. Her brothers would be returning the following day and Bryn wanted to spend as much time with Azriel as possible. Which meant she had to finish up all her chores, to avoid arousing suspicion in Roman upon his return. Neglecting the sewing, that had been her first mistake.

Lorens was gone again, off visiting with Marion. He had offered to take her into town, but Bryn vehemently refused. As a child she had loved going, but the curse had changed everything. It was Isaac who had blabbed about what had happened. Word spread like wildfire and before the days end everyone knew what her father had done. How she had been...tainted. Punished and ostracized, she felt like a corpse on display whenever she entered the town. Men, women and children would stare and gawk at her. Some pointing and whispering while others cursed and spat disgusted by her presence. Only Marion and her family seemed to understand what had really happened. No doubt Lorens had explained, but a single friendly face wasn't worth the onslaught of glares and bluster. Lorens left her alone again, without much fuss aside from making her promise again to return and lecture her about the dangers of her "little game" as he called it. Bryn listened patiently, pretended to heed his word, but she took no stock in his fear.

So, after eating her fill at the kitchen table, she stoked up a roaring fire and settled down as the sun set with a needle and thread to begin her work. She had never minded the sewing, it was easier on her body to just sit and stitch. But it was also endlessly boring; a task she had mastered long ago and had no patience for now. Her brother's clothes were all the same, and offered little in the way of entertainment. It seemed as though every time she had finished there was new rip to repair. A new stain to work out. A new garment to create from scratch. Instead, she would try to imagine she was working on something else. A beautiful dress or a nice hat. Anything to help her escape the reality of the chore. 

Unfortunately, there was more to do than she remembered. And although she worked quickly, soon she could see the sky beginning to warm. Night was coming to an end. And she still wasn't done. To make matters worse, she was tired. The trek into the mountains was no easy task and she had hurried through it for three days straight. As she stitched up a tear in one of Gareth's shirts, she felt her energy waning. Before she knew it, she had dropped the needle and thread into her lap, her head lolling back. Lost to sleep.

She was woken by a troubling sound, but she was too groggy to recognize it. At first. As her blurry vision cleared, she realized she was hearing voices. Male voices. One of them was sharp and whiny. The other hushed.

_Isaac._

Sucking air into her lungs, her whole body jarred into clarity. But her muscles were stiff as sticks and she could only manage small mechanical movements. Her mind whirred. They weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow. Had she miscounted the days? No she was certain - certain - they weren't due home until tomorrow. Lorens wouldn't have left otherwise.

Groggily, she looked up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Look who decided to wake up."

Isaac and Gareth stood over her, identical, noxious grins plastered on both their faces.

"Sleeping the day away, eh Bryn?" Isaac sneered, "Tsk, tsk,"

Bryn's mouth fell open. Her third mistake.

Her eyes caught site of what they held between them only a second before they lifted it in the air and dumped the contents over her head. It was the ash pale, full to the brim.

Ash flowed into her mouth and nose, coating her tongue. Slamming her eyes shut, she clamored to her feet desperate to breath but not daring to. She could hear faintly her brothers laughing, but the alarm bells in her head were too loud. She held her hands out, blindly feeling for the door that led outside. Her throat constricted and she fell to her knees unable to stop from retching. Bracing herself against the grassy floor, her entire body convulsed violently trying to dispel the intruding ash from her system.

She rubbed at her eyes, clearing them of ash. Even though she had managed to shut them in time, they still stung. Bleary-eyed, she looked down. Her dress, her apron, her arms and hands, everything was covered in a layer of black soot.

_Fucking bastards._ She cursed, clutching at her stomach as she heaved again. Her throat felt hot and raw. She needed water. She rose shakily to her feet, her head spinning wildly, and turned towards the rain barrel by the door. Isaac leaned against it, blocking her path. His arms were crossed and there was a worrying spark in his eyes.

_He's baiting me._ Bryn thought, wiping wildly at her mouth, dark eyes blazing. It took every ounce of energy left to restrain herself from attacking him.

"What's going on here?"

Both brother and sister turned to see Roman standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the upper frame. He could barely fit under the high threshold. Though his stance remained casual, both Bryn and Isaac could sense the annoyance in his voice.

Bryn swallowed, cringing as the walls of her throat scratched against each other like sandpaper. She fought to contain another cough. She looked to Isaac. He was smiling, but he didn't move or speak. His green eyes narrowed on her, a silent challenge.

There was little Bryn could do to explain and even if she could...she had been caught sleeping. Roman would not be pleased. Running her hands over her apron, Bryn turned her gaze back to Roman. He was watching her carefully.

Pursing her lips, Bryn simply shrugged tossing her hair over her shoulder. A wave of soot, like a cloud of insects fell away from her tangled hair. The fire inside her ebbed, tickling her ribs angrily. She swallowed again, the pain a vital reminder. She needed to pick her battles carefully. And this was one she was sure to lose.

Her heart hammered relentlessly in her chest as she waited for Roman to speak. He took his time, looking between them, his eyes assessing. Bryn repressed a growl. Roman wasn't stupid, he had likely already put together what had happened. He was testing her, hoping she would crack and dig herself a deeper hole.

"You've made quite a mess in there." He said finally, chastising her as if she were a child. Bryn's nostrils flared but she bit down on her lip, dodging his eye. "Get it cleaned up before dinner."

Bryn's shoulders sagged and she dropped her head down in a show of regret she did not feel. Isaac snickered, igniting the heat in her belly all over again. She glared at him openly, her hands turning to fists at her sides.

_Bastard, bastard, bastard._ She thought.

"Isaac," Roman snapped, impatiently. "Enough. We've got work to do."

Isaac straightened, following behind Roman like an eager pup. "Yes, brother."

Bryn watched them go, allowing the steel to breach her eyes. Gareth was waiting for them by the stables, tending to Belka. The cart was piled high with the game they had collected.

_Is...is that why they are home early? Too many dead animals to carry?_

Bryn loosed a groan. She had been far too careless. Too stupid to think that they would be true to their word. She wiped at her face, shivering as the ash coated her hand. She must have looked a mess. Stalking over to the barrel she gripped it with both hands and dunked her head inside. Opening her mouth she sucked in a stream of cold water, swishing it around before pulling her head back out and spitting. She repeated the action again, pulling her hair back and wringing it out. Somewhat alleviated she slipped into the house to clean up the ash that now covered the ground.

It took her close to an hour of scrubbing and washing to get the job done, her focus stunted by the touch and smell of the ash. Her eyes were tearing, blurring her vision. She had to pause several times, her stomach sent to churning by the itch in her throat that stirred up wave after wave of nausea. She could still taste the ash on her tongue and was sure some of it had made it's way down her throat and into her lungs. She paused, gagging at the thought, squeezing the knitted cloth in her hand tightly as she waited for the queasiness to pass. She rose up and headed for the sink, certain she was going to vomit again.

As she waited for the feeling to pass, she looked out the window. She could see Isaac and Gareth were still unloading the cart, distributing the spoils as Roman directed them. Fortunately for her, Roman was so committed to the sport of the game hunting, he always saw fit to carry it through to the bitter end. Bryn would not have to skin the creatures or prepare them for dinner and storage. It was a bloody, nasty job and Bryn had no desire to ever take part in it.

_And with that many carcuses…_ Bryn thought, spitting ruefully into the sink. _Even with Isaac and Gareth's help they won't be done until sunset._

It would take hours - _hours_ \- for them to finishing the skinning alone. Roman always took such pride in it. He wouldn't rush the process. In fact, he was probably teaching Gareth how to do it himself since it was his first hunt.

_You should go. Go now._ She thought, turning to look at the fireplace. It was clean, probably more so than it had been in months. And aside from two remaining garments, her work was done.

_It's too dangerous._ Another voice said. _They may be distracted but if you're not back in time…_

Bryn moved away from the window slowly, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

_You told Azriel you would be there today. You promised. Lorens is still in town. They won't know, they won't care…Even if you're late he'd have to cover for you. Or else he'd be in trouble too._

Bryn didn't allow Loren's warnings to sink in. The thought of staying, of going another day without seeing Azriel, was too terrible. she caught sight of her ghostly reflection in the window pane. Her face was marred with black powder, her clothes too. 

_I can't...I just can't stay here another minute._

Her mind made up, she dropped the rag into the sink and hurried up the stairs to the attic. Shedding her soot-soaked clothes, she reached under the bed and pulled out an old trunk. After struggling with the latch, he hands trembling fiercely, she pulled it open; letting loose a stream of dust. Waving it away, she rifled through the trunk.

It had belonged to her mother. She found it years ago, after her father's death. He had kept it hidden for years. Luckily Bryn had retrieved it before Roman had seen, knowing that he probably would've had the contents sold.

_There._ She pulled an cream colored frock from the bottom. She had only tried it on once before, too frightened to wear it out at the thought of Roman questioning her. The skirt was crafted of thick muslin and fell full to her ankles. The bodice was tied off at the front by a length of shiny blue ribbon and the sleeves tied off with the same ribbon cinching just above her elbows. She slid it over her head, pleased to find it still fit her like a dream. She did up the tie, weaving the ribbon through the holes, trying to ignore the trembling in her hands. Satisfied, and knowing that she couldn't delay a moment longer lest she lose her nerve, she silently descended the steps and slipped out the front door.

Bryn didn't look back, didn't dare open herself to the protests in the back of her mind. She just ran, disappearing into the forest and across the remnants of the wall.

* * *


	5. Chapter 4

_Where is he?_

Bryn swallowed again, cringing at the lingering scratchiness in her throat. The bitter taste of ash still coated her tongue and she wondered fleetingly if she would ever be rid of it. She stuck her tongue out, failing to suppress her gag reflex.

The wolf, amber eyes glistening like melted gold, lifted its head to look at her. He had been there when she arrived, lazing in the sun. Reluctantly, Bryn met its gaze and was made breathless by the fire there. It wasn't often that she saw that look. The one that shook her bones. It was like he could see everything she was and had been and would be.

 _He's an animal._ She told herself. _He couldn't possibly..._

Though her heart fluttered, she leaned back, bracing one hand in the dirt and tossing the other haphazardly in the air in a lackluster attempt to look casual.

_What?_

The wolf's expression didn't change. It just stared at her with those sharp eyes. Bryn tilted her chin up, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looked to the sky.

 _He's coming._ She thought. _I know he is._

The wolf snorted, as if reading her mind. Bryn shot him a glare. _I am early after all._

She gathered a handful of her skirt, kneading the thick cotton between her fingers. Her worried gaze turned soft. It stilled smelled like her mother, soft and clean. At least, Bryn liked to think it did. She had no memory, no idea of who her mother had been. What she had been like. Her father and brothers refused to tell Bryn, placing the blame of her mother's death on her shoulders. _You don't deserve to know her,_ Roman had once said. She could still feel the remnants of the blow like an old wound.

 _Because he's right._ Bryn thought, releasing the folds of fabric as a familiar hollowness overtook her. Guilt soon followed. Slamming into her, drowning her. _What was I thinking?! Taking this dress. Wearing it out. As if I had the right to-_

The wolf loosed a growl by her side, tossing his head. Its tail swung back and forth in a pendulum swing. Bryn blinked down at him. He rose up, pushing his forehead against hers, another huff of air shooting from his nose. Bryn reached a hand around him, scratching behind one ear. The creature moved back so he could lick her cheek. The corner of Bryn's mouth turned up in a grin, her eye winking shut as the nuzzling continued. Once he was finished, the wolf leaned up against her; his size nearly enough to knock her to the ground. Bryn wrapped one arm around him, running her free hand through the fluffy fur at his chest.

Bryn had called him her friend for many years, having met the noble creature under nightmarish circumstances. They were both of them purchased pieces of property, torn from home and family. When she could speak, before she had been bound to the curse, she would talk to him through many a sleepless night. She wished desperately that he could talk back, but was grateful always for his silent presence. She was certain she would have gone mad without it. And on that fateful night of her escape, she knew she couldn't leave him in the castle of ice and stone that still haunted her dreams. Watching him go free into the depths of the forest, his shiny fur catching the moonlight as he weaved through the trees had been one of her great joys. And reuniting a year later, to find he had never really left her...she teared up all over again at the very thought; at the joy that pooled in her chest, chasing away the stifling loneliness she had lived with for so long.

The wolf whined again, licking at the corner of her eye. Bryn loosed a breathy laugh and patted his head, leaning back into him. Silence fell around them again and Bryn couldn't stop her mind from wandering.

 _I can't stay long today._ She thought, her heart going heavy. _I shouldn't even be here now. I'll just...I need to tell him that I can't come tomorrow. Or the next day. And then leave._

She sighed, angry with herself. She knew it was the right thing to do. Hell, it was the sensible thing to do. She was already at risk, choosing to come back to the clearing even though her brothers had returned early.

 _You have to tell him._ She repeated again.

As she debated with herself, a flurry of wind fell from above giving way to a swathe of shadows that moved with all the gentleness and grace of a rushing stream. And from those shadows came Azriel, a devastatingly playful grin spreading across his face.

"Good Morning," He said, tossing his head to the side to steer the hair from his eyes.

 _Mother above..._ Bryn had to clamp her lips together to keep her mouth from falling open. He still took her breath away, stole it like some ravishing thief.

"I'm sorry I'm late," He said, tilting his head down with all the charming formality of a visiting prince.

Bryn just deftly shook her head, her heart giving way to palpitations as he lowered himself down next to her. His hazel eyes were gleaming and he lifted a large box into his lap.

 _That's it._ Bryn thought. _I must be dreaming. He always looks so distant and calm...but now he's...happy? Excited? Mother, I need to pinch myself._

"I have something for you," He said, his voice catching with nerves. Bryn didn't notice, she eyed the box with a hungry curiosity. It was obsidian black in color, gilded with thin lines of silver and gold. Letters were scrawled across the top in a fine, loopy hand and it was held together by a thick silver silken ribbon.

 _Strange to keep the writing supplies so nicely packaged._ She thought, pulling the box into her lap. She fiddled with the bow, pulling it off the box slowly enjoying the smooth feel of the ribbon in her fingertips. _Maybe he'll let me keep it._

She thought happily of weaving it through her hair as she lifted up the top and setting it down gently next to her. The wolf had risen again, rounding behind Bryn to peer over her shoulder.

Blush colored paper, as thin as leaves and just as crinkly, lay underneath the box top. Bryn lifted it back. Her brows knit together.

_This isn't…_

She frowned, finding none of the writing supplies he had brought yesterday. Her eyes fluttered back up to his, the question clearly painted on her face. Azriel laughed softly.

"It's...a gift," He said, warmly.

She looked down at it again, a small smile lighting her face. She ran her hand over the fabric, gasping at the touch. It was sapphire in color, beautifully soft and shiny. She gripped it with both hands, pulling it from the box and rising to her feet. The box and paper slipped from her lap to the ground. The garment unfurled.

 _A coat._ She realized, her cheeks flushing.

It was impeccably tailored, bedecked with large silver buttons that gleamed in the dim sunlight. The collar was large and could be turned up against the wind and the rain. It was outfitted with two large pockets and a waist-cinching tie. The inner layers were thickly lined and covered by a cream-colored silk. Small black stones, flat and hexagonal were sewn into the hem of the sleeves and tie.

 _It's gorgeous..._ Bryn thought, hypnotized by the mastery of it. _Which means...it's expensive. It looks Fae-made._

She swallowed, lowering it down and sinking back to the ground. She hurriedly folded it, withering internally as she felt the blush in her cheeks stain her neck and chest as well.

She held it out to him, shaking her head.

"Please," He said, gently. "I want you to have it."

Carefully laying it down in her lap, she looked up at him. She pointed a finger to her chest, shook her head, then touched her thumb to her ear and dragged it down her jawline opening her palm just under her chin, finally forming a circle with her thumb and index finger and pointing to him.

_I have nothing for you. To return._

Azriel only raised a hand.

"I'll make you a deal," He said, as if having prepared for such a reaction from her. "If you let me continue to teach you...if you learn enough to tell me your name, we'll call it even,"

Bryn huffed. _How would that make us even?!_

She opened her mouth to protest, but could think of nothing to say. _I truly have nothing to offer him. But-_

"Please," Azriel said again. "It's yours to keep."

Bryn frowned, unconvinced. Old alarm bells were sounding the back of her mind. This was...familiar. In all the wrong ways. Men always wanted something from her. Every smile, every gift, every plate of food came with a price.

But Azriel had that look again, the one she knew was devoid of any lie or pretense. _He's...really just giving this to me?_

She showed him one finger, then pointed to the sky. Holding out palm flat, she touched her other hand to it and then pushed her hands forward towards him as if she meant to drop something in his lap.

_One day...I'll pay you back._

She paused, touching her finger and thumb to her chin. The shrugged.

_Somehow._

Azriel nodded. "If you insist."

Bryn sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. _I most certainly do._

Azriel breathed a laugh and Bryn thought she would keel over as the pleasant sound of it floated through her ears.

She rose up again and pulled the coat over her shoulders. It was loose, but oh so warm. She wrapped it tightly around, pivoting in a circle. Her smile grew as she spun back to face Azriel. She pressed her hands to her sides, and cocked her head to one side, hoping he could deduce her question.

_How does it look?_

"It's..." Azriel said in a whisper. "Beautiful."

Bryn felt her knees buckle and all the air in her lungs whooshed out of her.

_Am I imagining...or...is he...he's not even looking at it._

His hazel eyes were trained on her face and she could see traces of it. That smile she wanted to see. One that was easy and grand and would turn her stomach to butterflies.

 _You have to tell him now._ A voice in the back of her head beseeched. _If you don't you'll never leave in time. And if you don't...you may never see him again._

Bryn swallowed, wanting to push the voice away. But she couldn't.

She knelt down and touched her hand to the ground, then rose to her feet and pointed to the treeline. And even though her heart decried the action, she shook her head from side to side.

_I can't stay._

The beginnings of the smile fell away from Azriel's face, replaced by an impenetrable emptiness. Bryn cursed herself for being so sensible.

 _He probably thinks me ungrateful._ She cringed, wishing she could take it back. Damn her brothers. Damn her stupid, miserable, trapped life.

"Tomorrow then," He said, all trace of emotion gone.

Bryn shook her head, shoulders drooping. She held up two fingers.

"Two days," Azriel repeated. "...from tomorrow?"

Bryn nodded.

Three days. Three sunrises and two moonfalls. It seemed like an eternity from now. And even if the day did come, Bryn wasn't certain she could sneak away again. Azriel took a step forward, closing the gap between them. He took gentle hold of her hand, holding it up.

"Alright," He said, softly. "Three days."

Bryn fought the urge to squeeze his hand, to tangle her fingers through hers and never let go.

 _Tell him._ Another voice whispered. _Just tell him why you have to leave. He'll understand. He'll help you._

Bryn dismissed the thought. She had considered it before. With Marion. With the few townspeople that looked on her with pity. But she couldn't act on such impulses. Anytime she tried, shame would ignite within her. She couldn't reveal the truth, couldn't let anyone - especially Azriel - see the way she had chosen to live. He would see her for what she was: a weak little farm girl unable to rise above her station. She couldn't stand the sorrow and the pity, the cooing and the coddling. And if he did try to help her, if anyone dared to confront Roman…

Bryn shivered. _He...he would look at me differently. If he truly knew. If he could see._

Her heart ached at the thought, the pain so sharp she felt her whole body begin to tremble.

 _I can't tell him._ She answered back. _Never._

Bryn stepped backwards, holding the coat tightly to her shoulders and gestured her sign for 'thank you.' She knelt down and picked up the box, holding it at her side. She lifted her free hand, waving it in the air.

_Goodbye._

"Goodbye," Azriel said. He watched her go, saddened by the ever-increasing number of farewells they had shared.

 _But what is the alternative?_ He thought. He couldn't take her back to Velaris.

_...Why not?_

The war had passed. It had been centuries since a human had stepped foot in the famed city. His high Lord and Lady would likely be thrilled by such a prospect. If he offered to show her around...Azriel shook the thought away. He had no right to assume that perhaps...just maybe she saw more in him than a simple friendship. He had spent centuries fawning in that way. Making a fool of himself. Hoping beyond hope. He would not fall prey to such absorbing temptations again. He didn't want to frighten her. Or pressure her as he had Mor.

_Mor..._

When the girl had disappeared from sight and sound, when he could no longer catch her scent, he unfurled his wings. He needed to find Mor and thank her for her help. Before he could shoot into the sky, he felt a tug at his leathers. He looked down. The wolf was there, sharp teeth clamped to one of Azriel's coattails. It's amber eyes were hot, its lip curled back at it growled openly. The sound would have struck fear into the heart of any lesser creature. But Azriel was no lesser creature. 

"What?" He grumbled, pulling his clothes free from the beast's mouth.

The wolf, hackles raised, only growled again before tossing its head back. Back to where she had been sitting.

Azriel looked up to the tree line, to the spot he had seen her vanish into.

"I mean her no harm," Azriel said, though he felt foolish to talking to the creature.

The wolf pawed at his leg and moved to grab hold of Azriel's leathers again.

Azriel leapt, his wings pulling him up and out of the wolf's grasp. Without looking back, Azriel rose up and into the sky. As the clearing grew smaller and smaller below him, he heard the wolf loose a long, languid howl.

 _Such an odd creature.._.Azriel thought, speeding through the air on a northern wind.

* * *

 _I made it._ Bryn thought, trying to cool her nerves. The late afternoon sun, still hidden behind a bank of thin clouds, was only just visible above the western mountain range. Spring was still far from reaching it's peak, but the days were getting noticeably longer. It was hours still until sunset. _With time to spare._

Pausing at the gate, Bryn touched the collar of the coat with both hands, allowing herself to indulge in the feel of the fabric for a moment longer. She had allowed herself a small detour, stopping by on the small ponds on her trek and admiring the coat in the dark, glassy reflection on the surface. Even though the water distorted her shape, she was captivated. Tracing the silver stitching with her fingers she sighed contentedly. Never in her life had she worn something so grand or so well made. Reluctantly, she pulled out of her reverie and slid the coat from her shoulders. A chill ran up her spine as the late afternoon air washed over her. She touched a hand to her stomach, admiring her mother's dress. It was a stark but vibrant contrast, the dust-swept ivory surrounded by such a deep, dark blue hues. After draping the coat over her lap, she folded it and slipped it gently back into the dusty pink wrapping. She let the boxtop fall in place and tied the ribbon back around it. Her clumsy bow was nowhere near as pretty, but Bryn didn't mind.

Rising to her feet, she clutched the box tightly to her chest. The weight of it a comforting touch against her chest. She couldn't remember a time she had held something that was entirely hers, something given without expectation or pretense. She wouldn't have believed it if not for that fierce determination in Azriel's eyes. And the satisfied smile that lit his face upon her reluctant acceptance.

 _I certainly don't feel reluctant now._ Bryn felt her heart warm and she allowed for a small smile before slipping through the gate to her home. She looked to the sky, her eyes searching for the early signs of night in the few blinking stars that could be seen in the waning light of the sun.

The smile fell away.

To her dismay, she could see black smoke spilling from the chimney over the kitchen. She paused, listening for sounds of chatter by the stables, but heard nothing.

 _Impossible...they couldn't have finished all that work so quickly._ The gears in head stumbled and stuck as she tried to work out how long she had been gone. Four hours at most. _Four hours but...there were three hands this time. Isaac and Gareth were helping Roman. Oh Bryn, you stupid, stupid girl. Why didn't you think?!_

Once the skinning was done, they would move to the kitchen to begin curing and cooking. Swallowing, she hurried towards the front door eyes shifting left and right for signs of her brothers. She stopped at the door, weighing her options. Going through the back door was out of the question. They had to have noticed she was gone. _Even if I go through the front..._ Bryn thought. But...if she managed to creep upstairs and trounce loudly down, she could convince them that she had been up in her room all was risk in that too. If they were crowded around the fire and one of them turned or heard the door open, they would see her.

 _And if they see the box there will be questions._ She clutched it tighter against her side, glancing down at it. She considered leaving the coat box under the steps outside, but couldn't bear the thought of something happening to it.

 _I just need to get it upstairs._ Bryn thought, resolute. She placed her hand on the handle of the door and after sucking in a steadying breath, pushed down. She cringed as the door creaked upon opening, stopping when there was just enough space for her to wriggle through.

Sure enough, she could hear chatter from the kitchen accompanied by the sounds and smells of sizzling game over a large fire. She shuffled silently across the floor, her eyes trained not on the stairs but on the kitchen door. She could see Isaac and Gareth, backs to her as they bent over the fire. She slid the box behind her back, gingerly stepping towards the staircase. _Just a few more steps..._

"Bryn." Roman's voice called from the kitchen. "Come here."

Bryn flinched, eyes darting around the entry hall searching for a place to hide the box. She couldn't make it all the way up to her room and back without rousing suspicion.

_What do I do?! What do I do?_

Lorens appeared at her side, grabbing her forearm and pulling her towards the kitchen. She tried to protest but she couldn't catch his eye.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" He hissed. "Are you out of your mind!?"

Bryn could feel the pulse in his wrist slamming against her skin She tried to shake him off, but he held tightly to her, fear and betrayal battling in his dark eyes. He hadn't seen what she was carrying, hadn't even bothered to look.

"She's here," Lorens said stiffly, barely able to keep himself composed.

Roman sat at the head of the table, a slab of freshly cut and cooked meat on his plate. Venison from the smell of it. Isaac and Gareth had taken the seats on either side, gripping knives and forks and eyeing their own plates hungrily. None of them looked up as Lorens released her, stepping around the table towards the crackling fire, leaving her to explain herself. She watched him, wondering if perhaps he would lose all nerve and bolt for the door.

Bryn gasped as the box tipped and nearly toppled out of her grasp, she had to duck to down to catch it, slamming herself into the wall to pin it behind her.

 _Dammit, Dammit. Dammit._ She thought. She jolted when she realized that Roman was watching her. He didn't move beyond chewing, the noise of it turning Bryn's stomach. She fought withhold a grimace while trying to soothe her breathing. She held his gaze, her eyes stinging as they dried. When he finally swallowed, he lifted a hand and nudged Isaac's shoulder; grumbling an order Bryn couldn't hear.

Isaac turned round in his chair to glance at Bryn. After swallowing a large bite of half-raw meat, he jumped from the bench and wiped his hands on his sides.

 _No_. Bryn thought. She fought the urge to run for the door herself. Isaac was nowhere near as strong as Roman, but he was wily.

Rounding the table, Isaac stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped towards her. Bryn lurched away, cursing herself as Isaac's bored grin turned serpentine.

"Whatcha got there, Bryn?" He asked, closing in on her.

Bryn shook her head, mouthing the word 'nothing.' Her mind was racing. It was too late to pretend, but if she could weasel around him and make it to the back door maybe she could dump it in the forest.

"Give it to him." Roman demanded lazily before taking a large gulp from his mug. Foam from the mead sloshed down to his chin.

Before Bryn could protest, Isaac had snatched the box away with one gangly arm. Bryn spun around and reached for it, but Gareth had crept up behind to her and caught her wrist. Isaac stepped back to the table and handed the box to his brother with the self-satisfied beam of a hunting dog retrieving a kill. Bryn tried to pull away, but Gareth pulled her arm behind her, folding it up at a painful angle and anchoring her to him.

 _No, no, no._ Bryn thought, leveling the curse at her own base weakness. If she hadn't run all the way home...

"What's this?" Roman said, catching their attention.

Bryn went pale. He pulled the coat out from the box, the fragile wrapping falling away from it like a bank of snow. The fabric looked even more beautiful in the dim light of the fire. Too beautiful for their modest farmhouse. Embers reflected across the sparkled hem, like far away stars in a dark moonless night.

"Very nice," Roman said, fingering the collar. Bryn struggled against Gareth, nearly breaking free. How dare he handle it with such feigned reverence? Bryn's blood heated. He sounded almost amiable, but Bryn could see what was stewing behind his eyes.

"How'd you get your hands on something like this?" He asked, looking at her finally.

Four pairs of eyes were on her. Bryn didn't know what to do. She opened her mouth-

"Steal it?" Isaac said, from Roman's side.

Bryn shook her head.

"Oh, so someone gave it to you then?" Gareth offered, chuckling. "Out of the kindness of their heart?"

Bryn stopped herself from nodding. She couldn't let them find out about Azriel. They wouldn't like it.

 _Found it._ She mouthed, wriggling away from Gareth and dropping to the ground, pretending to pick something up.

"Found it?" Isaac guffawed. "Please."

Bryn shot him a glare.

"Don't lie, Bryn," Roman said, rising from his seat. He had to keep his head bent to retain eye contact with her. "Who gave it to you?"

Bryn's jaw tightened. She straightened, holding her ground.

"Say," Gareth interjected, slapping his knee. "She must have a friend. That's why she's always sneaking out into the forest."

Bryn's heart plummeted into her stomach.

Roman and Isaac whirled to their younger brother. "Into the forest?"

"Sure," Gareth said, pointing back to Lorens who was silently stoking the fire. "He let her go."

Lorens cursed under his breath. "Dammit Gareth,"

Roman rose from his seat, bearing down Lorens. "You did what?"

"Mother above Roman," Lorens said, refusing to meet his brother's eye. His knuckles were white as he gripped the poker. "She woke up early, her work was done. What's the harm in letting her go out every once in awhile?"

Bryn's eyes went wide. Isaac and Gareth's, too. Lorens may as well have pulled out all of his hair and eaten it. Never before had he or anyone else questioned Roman's decisions as head of the household.

Gareth snorted, releasing his grip on Bryn and leaning against the cabinetry. "You always were soft, brother."

Lorens cast his younger brother a sharp look and made to step forward, but Roman shoved him back.

"This is the harm." He said, lifting the coat on his hand. "Someone start's pampering her, giving her gifts and then she gets that high head again. First it was that _thing…_ "

He looked over his shoulder, his green eyes sharp with anger. Bryn shrunk back. She had seen that look before. Roman shoved the cloak into Lorens' chest. He stumbled back, scrambling to hold on to it.

"You take it into town tomorrow," Roman ordered. "And sell it."

Bryn wailed and rounded the table, grasping at Roman's shoulder.

 _No please._ She mouthed, hands shaking. She looked to Lorens, mouthing it again. He just turned away, shame stewing in his dark eyes. Without looking at her, Roman grabbed Bryn's wrist, pulling her away. He glanced Isaac, pointing a stern finger at him.

"First thing in morning, you're going with him. Make sure it's done."

Bryn felt tears welling up in her eyes as Roman pulled her up the stairs. Up and up until they reached the attic. He shoved her inside and lit a candle. Bryn moved around her bed towards the narrow window across the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.

"You tell me where you got it." Roman said in a low grumble. The dim light of the candle cast shivering shadows across his face, mutating his features. "Or there's going to be trouble."

Bryn shook her head, fear nipping at the back of her mind.

Roman sighed, reaching into his pocket. "He's back you know...Aldric."

Bryn's heart stopped. None of her brothers had dared to speak his name in the seven years since their father's death. The sound of it permeated the room like a toxin. Bryn tried to breath but her lungs had turned to stone, heavy and useless.

"Approached me in town, actually...with a new offer." He continued, pulling a tightly bound bundle of rope into the light. Bryn loosed a panicked murmur, her knees going weak.

"Thought I'd punch him straight through." Roman said, the joints in his fingers cracking as he formed a fist with his hand. "But you know how he is, all talk and charm."

Bryn could hardly hear him, she swayed on her feet. The room was closing in on her, the constricting like a snake's coils. Water pooled in her eyes.

_No, Roman...He can't. He_ _**promised.** _

"You know, I never knew how much father got that first time. Turns out it was shit compared to what he offered me yesterday." Roman said, looking up at Bryn. He smiled cruelly, light dancing in his green eyes like pagan demons celebrating a kill. Nostrils flaring, Bryn felt the fire spark again. Heat roiled off her. She was not a piece of cattle to be auctioned off. Again.

"I'm tempted to take him up on it. Lorens all but fucked that Baker girl. We'll have another woman around here soon enough," Roman said, unspooling the rope. "Unless...you tell me who gave you the coat."

Bryn's eyelids shuttered. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ give up Azriel. Roman would track him down, _hunt_ him if he had too. It wouldn't be the first time. Whenever a boy in town dared to look at her, Roman was there. Frightening them off or even beating them down. First it was the pub owners son. Then Oliver Cocker, who had travel to the Queen's city to get his teeth fixed up after Roman had challenged him to a boxing match before pummeling his face into the dirt. Bryn shook with rage at the thought of it, her mind replacing Oliver's pock-marked face with Azriel's angelic one.

_After everything Azriel has done for me. Is still doing for me...If Roman even tries to lay a hand on him-_

Bryn grunted, clutching her chest as another stab of pain echoed through her. It was worse this time, she felt it reverberating in her veins all the way to in her fingertips and toes. Her hand moved to her heart and she fell to her knees. The pain was gone as swiftly as it had come. And she felt...lighter somehow as if the shield around her had sustained a heavy blow. Panting, Bryn was certain she could feel a crack in its perimeter. As if to confirm her suspicions a rush of air seemed to seep from it suddenly, like steam from a kettle.

_But that's...it can't be possible._

She looked up at her brother, her fingers still brushing against her throat. His green eyes were wide, his anger temporarily forgotten. As if he had sensed it too. Inexplicably emboldened, she inhaled deeply and rose to her feet. And for the first time in nearly eight years, Bryn's voice rang out clear as a bell.

"No."

The silence that followed was deafening. Roman recoiled, dropping the rope as he stumbled over his surprise. But his recovery was quick.

His hands turned to fists at his sides and he growled, "What did you say?"

Bryn slapped a hand over her mouth, just as surprised as he was. She had forgotten what it felt like. To speak. To feel the walls of her throat vibrate with each passing sound. For years - _years_ \- she had wanted to say that word. Shout it at him and the rest of her brothers. She had been forced to lock it away with all the others, but somehow she had managed to speak it aloud. And now that she had...She stared him down, dark eyes rippling with seven years worth of righteous anger.

"I'll never tell," She practically snarled, her voice raw and shuddering. "You stupid, lazy pig."

Gobsmacked, Roman's mouth fell open.

Bryn sucked in a breath, intent on unleashing another flurry of insults but no sound came. As quickly as it had come the fire in her chest had wicked out and she was left voiceless and empty again.

 _No!_ She mouthed, paling as the crack vanished from her mind's eye. She clutched her throat with both hands, spurned with disbelief.

_How-? It's not- Not fair!_

Her grit was snuffed out by terror as she beheld furious, molten rage etched into every line of Roman's face. A voice in her head, pure instinct, screamed at her.

_**Run** _ _._

She bolted for the stairs, but Roman was too fast. As she streaked by him he caught hold of her hair and wrenched her back. His fist followed ramming into the side of her head. The force of it sent her crashing down the stairs. Toppling down, she landed on the ground in a heap; her head slamming hard into the wood floor. Inky black dots marred her vision. The walls and floor and ceiling, everything was spinning. She hissed, pushing herself up on her hands and knees. A terrible pain kindled in her temple and she could feel a thick, warm wetness trailing down her cheek from the corner of her eye.

 _Run. You need to run._ She scrambled to her feet, her entire body protesting. Her head spun so violently she keeled over again, bile rising in her throat. She felt a weight at the small of her back, pressing deep and pushing the air from her gut.

"The hell-?" Isaac muttered, his boot grinding against her back and holding her down. If he hadn't spoken, she wouldn't have recognized his blurry shape that floated like a bulbous black cloud above her.

Bryn groaned. She could hear Roman descending, each heavy step ringing in her head like a death knell. When he reached the bottom, Isaac stepped away. Roman reached down, grabbing the back of her neck and hoisting her up.

"She spoke," He said.

"She...what!?" Isaac questioned.

Roman dragged her behind him into the kitchen. Jerking her forward, Bryn grunted as her pelvis collided with their dining table, knocking the plates and utensils around. She flung her hands out, gasping at the sting of the impact against her palms. The twinge in her temple was worsening, her eyelid drooped shut out of her control, partially blackening her vision.

"Hold her down," Roman barked to his brothers. Isaac was there first, catching her before she could pull herself up. One hand holding tightly to her wrist, the other tangling in her hair and pushing her head back down, effectively bending her over the table's edge. Gareth leapt from his seat and took hold of her free wrist, pulling it away and clamping it down with both hands one set above her elbow, the other below. Bryn growled like an animal caught in a trap, unable to wrestle herself from their grasp.

"What's happening?"

Isaac and Gareth turned to the backdoor. Bryn couldn't see him, but she could hear Lorens' voice.

"She spoke," Isaac said, unbridled glee laced in the announcement. Gareth turned to his brother, eyes wide.

"She...spoke? I-What did she say?" Lorens asked, worry seeping through his words.

Roman rounded the table, the cane in his hands. His brothers watched him in silence, only now sensing the depths of his anger. Fruitfully, Bryn tried to wriggle out of her brothers grip. Even if she did manage to get loose of them, she knew she couldn't make it to the door.

She whimpered, her whole body jolting as Roman laid his hand over her back. It was big, so much larger than she remembered.

"She insulted me," He answered, his voice hushed and deceptively calm. His hand slid upwards gripping at the fabric of the dress.

"Say it again, Bryn." Roman dared, the voice hitching up in volume.

Bryn squeezed her eyes shut, her pulse fluttering. The muscles in her back went taut, preparing for the impact. _No, relax. You need to relax._ She thought, biting down on her lip.

"Come on," He baited tenderly, gripping the collar at her neck and shaking her. "Tell them what you said."

_I can't._ _**You know I can't** _ _._

Roman straightened, staring down at her for a moment that seemed to last for hours. Then he set the cane down on the table directly in her line of sight. A familiar shiver raced up and down her spine. Too soon. It was too soon. She still bore the scars from the past week. Still cringed every time she was forced to stretch her aching muscles.

"Last chance, Bryn." Roman grunted, calling her attention, his hand fisting the fabric at her back.

Bryn's eyes fluttered open. She knew she couldn't stop what was coming. _You've survived worse than this._ She told herself. _You have._ She took in one shuddering breath and met his gaze. Even if she couldn't say the words, she could still ensure they were felt. Her upper lip curled back to reveal her teeth and she glared at him, eyes blazing.

Roman barked a callous laugh, his hand lifting away.

"You always were a brazen little bitch." He spat. Bryn wasn't deterred, she let the fire seep from her, all the fear she had left burrowing deep down inside where it couldn't be seen or detected. Roman's laughter died out.

"Don't you dare look at me like that," Roman seethed. His second hand joined the first and tore at the fabric. Bryn bit back a cry as the dress, her mother's dress, was ripped open.

Bryn, her eyes stained with tears, didn't see him take up the cane again. Without warning, the impact ripped through her back, now laid bare, like a hot knife. It had been years since he had hit her like that, with every last ounce of strength in his arm. Stunned, Bryn's teeth pierced through her bottom lip as she tried to keep her cry locked inside. Roman cocked his head to one side, waiting. When it didn't come he lifted the cane again.

The second hit landed just below the first; every vein and muscle in her body went taut with the effort of keeping quiet. He leaned forward, his large body pressing into hers. His breath was hot and fowl against her face as he whispered, "If you won't speak, then I want to hear you scream."

The third blow hit her shoulders, tearing through her skin this time. She could feel it in her bones, blotting out all other thought and sensation. Unable to bear the agonizing sting any longer, Bryn heard herself cry out.

* * *

Miles away, Azriel halted in midair nearly falling into a straight drop as a sudden and terrible pain jolted through his system.

 _What...what was that?_ Gasping, he touched a hand to his chest feeling for an arrow or some other flying projectile. Shadows whirled wildly around him scanning for signs of a threat.

 _It felt as though...like I was stuck by lightening._ He thought, sucking air back into his lungs. His hand fell away, moving to the hilt of the blade strapped to his side. There were no signs of an attack, however. Below him sat nothing but barren white-capped peaks, so cold and so perilous it was impossible for life to dwell there. Aside from whistling winds, all was silent.

He was about to fly on when a second, sharper pang speared through him. His shadows spread in earnest now, frantically whispering to one another. But they could see nothing, sense nothing. The pain remained this time, pulsing along with the beat of his heart, localizing just below his collarbone. He turned back, rather he was _pulled_ back, by some invisible string threading through his chest and tugging him around.

He eyed the horizon. The sun was beginning to slink away. A preternatural quiet fell over the skyline. Even the clouds seemed to still. His mind raced, filtering through pages of intel he had stored away. Had there been a chance of an attack somewhere in Prythian?

The thread pulled tight again, remnants of the initial shock echoing through him. He flew forward a foot and the thread went momentarily slack. After a beat, it drew him forward again.

Shadows hedged in close around him. Each of them sibilating and rasping. Calling him, _begging_ him to go.

 _Go where?_ He thought, wingbeats falling hard and fast. He looked over his shoulder back to Velaris, the only home he had ever known.

 _ **No!**_ The shadows screamed now, the sound of it jarring even to Azriel.

 _ **South**_. They implored. _**Go South, go**_ _ **now**_ _ **. You are needed.**_

Never once inclined to question his Cauldron-given gift, Azriel's wings stretched wide and he pitched forward, heeding the strange call.

* * *


	6. Chapter 5

"That's enough, Roman."

Bryn arched her back, another sob wrenching through her as Roman brought the cane down again. She had lost count of the strikes. Her vision faded in and out of black. She couldn't feel the tears in her skin. There were only flames licking across her mangled skin, burning straight through to her bone. Her struggles had turned so feeble she wondered why she even bothered. Neither Isaac nor Gareth showed any signs of slackening their grip. Still, instinct roused what little strength she had left and she couldn't ignore it. She could only hope that soon darkness would come or Roman would tire of this. There had to be an end.

The next lash came too quickly, gnawing through her skin like a vine sheathed in thorns. Bryn snarled through her tears, her body trembling violently.

"Enough," Lorens said again, rounding the table and grabbing at Roman's arm. "You got what you wanted, let her be."

Roman glared at his brother. "That's not for you to decide."

He was panting, his body slick with sweat; green eyes swimming in some other plane far from their cottage. Lorens faltered, withering under his brother's gaze as if guessing he might turn the cane on him next. A restless silence, heavy and hot, permeated the room until Roman stepped back, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

"Perhaps you're right," He muttered, dropping his arm.

Bryn loosed a shuddering moan, relief running through her like flood waters. But Roman only turned to Isaac and offered him the cane.

"Your turn."

Isaac smiled. He looked to Gareth and released his hold on Bryn. The youngest of them shifted and gripped Bryn's neck, as though she were some wandering deer caught up in one of their traps. She mewled, attempting once again to push him off, but Gareth held fast. Lorens opened his mouth, but Roman grabbed a fistful of his tunic and forced him back towards the door.

"I don't want to hear anymore from you," He snapped. "Get some water, you can deal with her when we're done."

"Roman-" Lorens started, placing his hand over his brothers.

As Roman barked another order, Bryn's eyes, one bruised and swollen, narrowed. She could see, even through the tears blurring her vision, that the table had not yet been cleared. And just within her reach...a brass knife, gleaming in the firelight. It's serrated edges, tough enough to cut through their wretched game meat, called to her. Roman and Lorens' bickering grew distant as the passed through the door. Isaac and Gareth were distracted, watching Roman berate Lorens with captivated amusement. Neither noticed that they had left her right hand free. She slid her hand across the table as slowly as she could, her eye trained on the brother she could see; praying that he wouldn't catch sight of her movements. The cool metal of the blade shot through her nervous system like a jolt of lightening when her fingers brushed against it. She curled her fingers around it, trying a failing to coax away the trembling that was overtaking her as her heart pumped adrenaline through her veins. She dragged the knife back, tucking it in against her chest and clutching the base of it in her fist. Her eyes fluttered open and shut as she tried to assess her surroundings, but her concentration was being pulled in several different directions.

_**You need to go now.**_ Bryn thought, sucking in one calming breath. Roman had not yet returned and in his absence her path to the front door was now clear. Swallowing, Bryn readied herself, staring squarely at Isaac's hand now braced on the table inches from her face. She shifted her feet below her, praying that her legs would move quickly enough. Lifting the knife into the air, Bryn called upon every last bit of strength she had and ran it through the center of his hand.

Isaac shrieked, dropping the cane and stumbling backwards. Bryn didn't wait, she slipped out of Gareth's grip, now slack as he gaped at Isaac, and shoved him away. She sprinted for the door, grunting as pangs of black and white light clouded her vision. She clutched the threshold of the kitchen as she passed through and pushed off of hit as her lungs begged for air she did not have. If she could just reach the treeline, she could at least find a place to hide and catch her breath.

_Shit_. She thought, stumbling as her mind called up an image of their property. The trees seemed miles away. She already felt winded and her muscles were protesting against her. _I'll never make it._

She heard Isaac curse as he pulled the knife from his hand letting loose a steady stream of blood. It clattered to the floor as Bryn's hand clutched the door handle.

"Well!?" He shouted to Gareth. "Get. Her."

Bryn pushed the door open, clinging to the handle as she fell forward and nearly lost her balance. She could feel the shredded fabric of her dress threaten to fall away at the front so she pulled what remained of one tattered sleeve back up her shoulder, cringing as her fingers swept over splotches of warm blood. True to her memory, the forest seemed miles away. And although she could feel the adrenaline pounding through her like a drum, she knew she couldn't outrun her brothers. Panicked, she took a sharp turn, heading instead for the stables.

_If I could make it to Belka._ She thought; her eyes - her everything - now trained on the imposing black figures just beyond the house. Even now, her nerves were alert. She had never been taught to ride. All she knew of the skill was what she had observed throughout her lifetime. _I just need to get far enough away. They won't follow me past the wall. If I could just-_

She loosed a cry as a figure rounded the side of the house ahead of her. She flung her hands out, heels digging into the grass and made to dodge any oncoming hand. But it was only Lorens, water sloshing from the jug he carried as he jumped at the sight of her. Air rushed from her and she took up her pace once more. But as she flew past him, he caught hold of her wrist. Bryn whined, panic alighting anew. She tried to pull away, her body hemming as she threw all her weight towards the stables. But his grip wouldn't yield. As she tugged fruitlessly, her eyes were pleading -begging- him to release her.

_Let go._ _ **Let me go**_ _._ She shook her head urgently, lips moving even though she knew no sound would come.

"I-I'm sorry Bryn," Lorens said thickly. He looked to the ground, refusing to meet her eye.

Bryn whimpered as the fight fizzled out of her; the realization of her brother's betrayal impaling her as deeply as any blade. The window was closed, she could see Isaac and Gareth racing towards them the gap of space, her only salvation, shrinking with each swift step. She had been close, so close. Anger, black like tar, seeped through her veins, paralyzing her with it's sheer weight.

_Coward_. She thought, tears stinging her eyes. _He's a coward._

Lorens had been the only one to ever dare stand up for her, but it had never been enough. He would only make allowances when he knew it would be impossible for Roman to find out. Whatever stand he made was quickly dashed by Roman's threats. And now, when she needed him most, he had forsaken her.

Loren's grip slackened but it was too late. Something heavy slammed into the back of her head, knocking her to her knees. Bryn's hands went to her head as a sharp ache radiated through her brain and light danced before her eyes. She curled over, bracing one arm on the ground to catch herself. Isaac's voice descended from above her, but it was dampened by the ringing in her ears. His boot collided with her unprotected stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and turning her over on her back. She gritted her teeth as grass and dirt scraped against the raw stripes that littered her back.

_No. This can't be...happening. I-_

She felt the boot again, just above her ribs, pushing down, down, down. She whimpered, unable to pull air into her flaming lungs. Blood crept up into her throat, threatening to spill from her mouth. Her vision shuttered, black light threatening to overtake her again.

_No, I can't-I have to…get away._

As the keening in her ears began to subside, she could hear Roman commanding Isaac to stop, but he sounded far away.

"-see what she did?!" Isaac seethed. Roman didn't bother to answer him. The boot lifted away and Bryn felt Roman's hand close on her shoulder. She jerked away, but had nowhere to go. He tugged her up onto her knees. The world began to spin around her and she fisted the grass in her hands battling the ridiculous fear that she might fall into the vacuous sky.

_Stop._ Bryn could feel trickles of blood cascading down her shredded back. Roman's hand slid down, tugging her arm back. He joined her other arm behind her, his tight grip the only thing keeping her from tumbling back to the ground. _Stop this, someone_.

"Prepare the cart," She heard Roman say as a familiar rough texture circled her wrists.

_**This has to stop.**_ Bryn cried out in earnest. She bucked against him with what little strength she had left. But Roman held fast, one hand clutching her bound wrists while his free arm came around her chest anchoring her to the ground. Tears spilled down her cheeks, as even the sky began to fold in around her, the clouds morphing in her mind until they resembled the bars of a cage.

_I can't go back there. I can't._

"Well?" Roman said, pulling Bryn around to face Isaac. "I said I'd return her, but made no promises on her condition."

Isaac held the cane in his hands, eyes sparking again. He swung it through the air once, the whistling sound of it turning Bryn's stomach. He stalked closer.

"I can't say I won't miss these times together." He drawled, his smile turning sinister as he fingered the blood-stained cane in his hand.

A spark of anger, a single flame burning deep down inside the pit of her mind, singed through her. She was tired. So tired of it all. She had done everything that was asked of her. Every day for years and now Roman was reneging on their deal, fooled into submission by money like some classless beggar. The heat inside her began to spread, chasing away the numbness. Bryn ran her tongue along the bottom of her mouth, allowing the blood and saliva to pool on top. The taste was metallic and foul, but she kept her eyes trained on Isaac; his jabbering fanning the blaze. She opened her mouth...and spat directly in his face.

Isaac sputtered and lurched back, wiping at his eye. Bryn choked out a laugh as Roman's arm unwound, a grim smile spreading across her mangled face.

"Shit," Roman grumbled, his hand tangling in her hair and wringing her head back against his shoulder.

Isaac cursed again, all the amusement in his eyes vanishing.

"You always were a dirty, little bitch, Bryn." He growled, looking down at his hand that still bore traces of her blood. He rubbed it against the leg of his pants, disgusted painting his pockmarked face.

Lifting the cane high into the air, he snarled, "You'll pay for-"

He didn't get to finish nor did he see his blow hit home as an explosion of shadows, blacker than night, erupted between them.

* * *

Azriel didn't hesitate as the lanky human male squawked in surprise. He caught the rod in one scarred, bare hand and gripped it tightly. The wood snapped in half and shadows leaked from the crevices between his fingers consuming what was left of it, remains floating to the ground like grains of sand. Then a burst of blue energy shot from his other hand, hitting the male square in the chest and knocking him off his feet. He flew backwards, slamming into the wooden fence several dozen feet away and fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Azriel turned, shadows licking off of him like tendrils of smoke. Hazel eyes scanned the scene before him. The youngest of the boys fell back, shaking like a leaf, eyes wide with terror. Another was gaping, eyes trained on the ground Isaac had only just been occupying as if he couldn't fathom what had just happened. But the fourth one staggered to his feet dragging Bryn up with him.

_**Bryn**_ _._ Her name echoed in his head like a heartbeat, pulsing and pounding. The thread that had guided him trembled in earnest as he took in the sight of her. His cool, unconcerned mask melted away as a fiery, frozen rage took over.

"Release her," Azriel commanded in a snarl that could bend mountains, his wings stretching wide.

"I don't think so," Roman barked.

Azriel simply lifted a brow. He could smell the fear on the man. And blood. _Her_ blood. The scent of it stung his nose. He took a single step forward, his hand hovering over Truth teller's sheath. Roman stumbled back, his arm moving up and tightening around Bryn's throat.

"Stay back or I'll snap her neck." He threatened, his arm encasing her head. A small, anguished cry escaped Bryn's lips, followed by a blood-ridden cough. What little control Azriel still maintained over himself shattered and he vanished in a rush of shadow.

For one dismal second, Bryn though he had gone. Behind her, Roman loosed a guttural cry as a dark blade sliced deep into his side. Shadows slithered around it, widening the wound and slipping into his body. Roman's eyes went wide before turning obsidian black, all light and color chased away. He released his hold on Bryn and she crumpled to the ground.

She shifted to her side, pushing up on one bound forearm, spitting blood. Roman too had fallen, blubbering unintelligibly and convulsing as more and more shadows enveloped him inside and out.

Bryn watched, unable to look away as horror and relief battled for dominance in her head. Azriel straightened, his posture as still and as steady as a statue. He flung his blade out, shaking away her brothers blood before slipping it back into a sheath at his side. As if he'd done it countless times. His eyes were sharp and hard as ice. The eyes of a soldier, a killer. Bryn stifled a shuddering gasp.

Azriel looked down at her and his gaze immediately softened, guilt clanging through him. There wasn't an inch on her back that wasn't striped and bloodied. A vessel in her right eye had burst, the skin around it was swollen and beginning to bruise. Her bottom lip was slashed, blood dripping down her chin. Azriel cursed under his breath. He felt ill. How long had this been going on? Why hadn't he _seen_? And If he hadn't come...He pushed the dreaded thought away and stepped over the male's body and crouched before her. Bryn shuddered, instinctively shrinking away. It was a small move, but Azriel's heart cleaved apart at the sight of it. He dropped to his knees, arms trembling as they hovered over her broken body.

"I-" He started, shakily. "I can't leave you here."

He didn't trust the humans, not after everything that had happened to the Archeron sisters.

_She needs a healer._ He thought.

"Please," He said, managing no more than a whisper. "Let me take you to Velaris, my home."

Bryn's inhaled, her whole body trembling with strain at the effort and tears flowed from her eyes and a sob escaped her. She nodded furiously, trying to reach for him; forgetting that her arms were bound. Azriel pulled her into his arms, his shadows making quick work of the bindings around her wrists. With her hands free, Bryn loosed a wet sigh and turned into him, her hands clinging blindly to his fighting leathers. The siphons at his shoulders gleamed, and a thin shield of blue light covered her back, but not before his scarred hand made quick contact. He could feel what was left of her skin torn to ribbons and the blood, hot and sticky against his palm. The last of his composure fell away.

He swallowed, turning his attention back to to the men still standing. It took every last thread of discipline he had not to set her down and shred them all to pieces. He looked down at the man who had held her; _used_ her body as a shield. The shadows fell away from him, simmering with the anger reflected in their master.

Roman groaned, bubbling saliva frothing from his lips. His pupils rolled far back into his head until nothing but a cloud of white was visible in the fluttering sockets. Azriel lifted one foot and pressed it against the male's temple. He considered shattering his skull right then and there. But that would be too easy, too quick. Azriel wanted to peel the skin from his bones. Taking the time to revel in each agonized cry, watching the life drain from those sickly green eyes as he succumbed to a slow and painful death...but he could feel Bryn's pulse begin to slow. So he looked to the other two. The ones who were still unarmed, watching him closely.

"I will be back," He said, his voice now steady and calm yet still laced with deadly malice. "And if I find that you have helped him in any way...you will regret it."

Both of them nodded hurriedly as shadows slunk swiftly towards them like snakes in the grass. Azriel lingered for only a moment, allowing his words, his visage as dark and foreboding as a moonless night, to sink in before calling his shadows back and vanishing as quickly as he had come.

* * *

Although the city of Velaris was guarded like no other, manned by only the most courageous and cunning of sentries and warded with ancient spells so powerful only a select few in Prythian stood a chance at breaking them, there were ways into the city known only by the Shadowsinger. They too were well protected but while Azriel had his suspicions that the High Lord knew of them, he had never seen nor sensed a single soul attempt access to the city through his secret routes. One of them, his preferred method of entering and exiting Velaris, was hidden near his home and it was through this gate that he arrived, carrying with him the first human to enter into the city in over five centuries.

He landed on the roof deck, a swirled line of shadow shooting from his surrounding cloud into the sky towards the House of Wind with the speed of a falling star.

"Bryn," He called softly. He had not dared to look at her during the flight, choosing instead to focus all his energy and attention on his speed.

The thread snapped to life again, reviving only as he called her name...and was met with no response. Dismayed, Azriel's grip on her tightened.

"Please," He whispered. "Bryn, can you hear me?"

Her head lolled back and her grip on his clothes slackened.

"Bryn!" He called, louder this time even as his breath hitched in his throat. "Bryn, don't- you can't fall asleep. Please-"

A small sound, like a tinkling bell, drifted up from the staircase behind him.

Nuala was standing at the head of the steps, hands folded in front of her. She moved to bow her head, but froze as Azriel turned to her. Never before had she seen her mentor in such a state. His face was sallow and stricken with worry. His message, relayed to both her and Cerridwen through their private web of shadows, had been brief and vague.

_Healer need immediately. My house. Tell no one._

"Cerridwen-" Nuala began. "Is preparing your room, my apologies, I didn't realize-"

"It's fine," Azriel choked. "Where is-?"

"Madja is already in route," Nuala said, stepping aside so Azriel could descend the steps first.

"I can meet her. Bring her sooner-"

"She is seconds away," Nuala confirmed, her voice a whisper on the wind.

Azriel moved silently down the hall, shadows cluttering around him, tenderly caressing Bryn's body in an attempt to sooth her. Cerridwen appeared in the doorway, a similar look of surprise igniting her usually cool face.

Azriel didn't bother to explain as he lowered Bryn onto his bed.

"I-I don't know-" He started.

"Lay her on her side if you can," came a hushed, but firm command from the doorway.

Madja had arrived. Azriel complied.

_Is...is she breathing?_ He touched a hand to his forehead, running it through his hair. _I can't tell. She's so still. Too still. I-_

Madja placed a hand on his shoulder. Azriel opened his mouth to explain, but she shook her head and steered him towards the door.

"I will take it from here," She said. No bow or show of rank. Madja had always been a gentle soul, but firm in the face of a crisis. She didn't take kindly to anyone barking orders at her or questioning her methods when there was work to be done.

"What can I-"

"There's nothing to be done here, Cerridwen will assist me."

Azriel felt Nuala take hold of his wrist and guide him to the door. He deftly followed, even though the thread had gone taught again, vainly trying to pull him back. To make him stay. As the door slid shut, he caught sight of Bryn's face. There was no color there, no signs of life or movement.

_Please._ Azriel thought, shadows whispering around him. _Save her._

* * *

One hour turned quickly into three. Azriel collapsed onto one of the couches in his living room, wings aching from the straining of flying so fast and hard. He could still smell the blood on his hands, even though he had scrubbed them clean several times.

Instinct was begging him to do something, take some sort of action, but he was no healer. And Bryn's wounds were...extensive. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tangling his fingers in his hair. Images of what he had seen flashed through his head in an unending tortuous stream. The joints in his fingers jerked and he considered flying straight back to that farmhouse and slaughtering the lot of them.

Nuala silently approached, carrying a single mug on a tray. Thinking it was tea, Azriel raised his hand to refuse her, but he caught a whiff of it and recognized the brassy scent of alcohol.

"Medicinal," Nuala said gently, a smile meant to comfort gracing her dark face. Azriel took the cup and drained the contents in one long gulp.

"Is she-?" He tried, his voice hoarse.

"Resting," Nuala finished, sensing her teacher's worry. "Until Madja is finished."

"What can I do?" Azriel asked for what must have been the hundredth time. Nuala shook her head.

"If I don't-" Azriel stumbled, wringing his hands together. "If you don't give me something to do…"

_I'll go mad._ He thought, unable to say the words aloud.

"How long?" He asked instead.

Nuala leaned back to look down the hall, catching her sister's eye. "Another two hours, maybe longer."

"But-"

"She will heal fully." Nuala answered, sensing the coming question. "In time."

_In time_. The words were a spear to his gut. And then he felt it again, the thread tugging at his heart. He touched a hand to his chest, wincing as another spark of pain burrowed there.

_Strange._ He thought. _It's almost as if-_

Realization slammed into him. He rose to his feet too quickly, head spinning. Nuala started, nearly dropping the tray as she moved to take it away.

_Rhys_. He needed to see Rhys. Immediately.

"Where is the High Lord?" Azriel asked, breathless.

"A-At the townhouse." Nuala answered.

"Is he alone?"

It didn't matter. He shook his head and moved around Nuala, headed for the stairs.

" _Don't_ leave her." Azriel commanded her. Nuala simply bowed and by the time she had straightened again, Azriel was gone.


	7. Chapter 6

Azriel flew to the House of Wind, his shadow reflecting starkly against the homes below. A full moon, pearl-white and glowing, hung heavy in the sky above. The higher he climbed, the colder the air became, but Azriel couldn't feel the chill. He took short, swift breaths in hopes of staving off the strange sensation of the taught thread, its presence inside him a confusing and jarring one. But the farther he flew, the stronger the pull felt. Until quite suddenly, the thread evaporated.

He dropped into a dive, landing hard on the eastern balcony. His shadows did not scatter, but clung to him, vibrating restlessly as Azriel held a hand to his chest. He felt lighter...almost empty. As if the thread had been filling some pocket inside him he didn't even know existed. Until now.

He turned away from the house, bracing his hands against the ledge of the balcony, the carved stone came close to buckling under the pressure of his grip. Though he appeared to be surveying the city now far below, his gaze had turned inwards; shadows circling around him with aching slowness.

 _What's happened?_ He sent the words on a shooting shadow and watched as it slithered down the mountain side at a breakneck speed.

The answer came in seconds, but each tick of the clock felt like an eternity. As he waited Az mentally reached for the thread but could only sense a trembling darkness as thick and as angry as a bank of rolling black storm clouds. His eyes darted back and forth as he attempted to penetrate the strange mass and a shiver wracked through him as the familiar twinge of magic stung his senses.

 _The curse,_ He realized, Perhaps Bryn had managed to temporarily break through whatever magic had been bound to her. He knew that no magic was all powerful and there had been tales of fae and human alike that had bested spells under moments of staggering duress. Azriel's air left his body and he doubled over, wracked with guilt. His experience with magic, human magic for that matter, was minimal at best. And with the construction of the wall, there was no telling how the medium had evolved in the years since. But if she had managed it, then the string could be a remnant of that call.

_But...why did it come to me?_

The question hung over him like a fog. He had a theory...that was why he was here. The implications of it were threatening to overwhelm him when Nuala's response finally came.

 _Madja is still working,_ the answering shadow settled amongst its brothers at the turn of Azriel's shoulder. He could sense the question the half-wraith chose not to ask.

Azriel breathed, only just sensing the gentle burning in his starved lungs. The stillness around him, the beauty of the city bathed in moonlight, mocked the turmoil spinning inside of him. He tucked his wings in and turned towards the house. His movements were slow, weighed down by the heaviness in his heart; his mind working on more important things.

It was only now that he realized he didn't know what to say to Rhys. He only knew that he couldn't be entirely truthful. He could not reveal to his High Lord the presence of a human in the walls of Velaris. At least...not yet. Azriel could remember clearly the day that his High Lady had first come to Velaris. He could remember that dinner, now likely to be seen as an auspicious evening in history's telling of Rhysand's reign. And he could remember the fragile, fluttering beats of Feyre's overwhelmed heart, as she was bombarded by the deeply sewn bonds of the Inner Circle. Time had been a deciding factor then. Time, along with Rhysand's infamous flair for the dramatic. It had been a test, coolly planned and seamlessly executed, as was Rhysand's way. There were moments yes, where such introductions were necessary, but this was not one of them. No, Azriel would not subject Bryn to a baptism by fire. He couldn't bear to be the cause of any further discomfort.

 _As if that's all she feels now,_ Azriel thought, his scarred fingers constricting into fists as another image of Bryn's bruised face flashed through his mind. He could still feel the burning of her blood on his fingers. As if it was still stuck to his skin. As if it always would be.

"Azriel?"

He looked up, shadows swirling around him like a makeshift shield. Feyre stood under the threshold. Her hand touched one of the stone columns that framed the entry. Opaque, violet curtains hung down around her, marking clearly the brassy tones in her straw-colored hair. She was dressed casually tonight. The large gray sweater, a favorite of Mor's, meant to protect from the crisp night air.

Azriel bowed his head, "My lady."

As always Feyre's eyes were assessing, glinting busily in the moonlight as they took him in. Azriel held tightly to his shadows, every muscle in his face working to contain the turmoil that simmered just underneath his usual veil of indifference.

"Rhysand is here?" He asked coolly.

"...yes," Feyre said, brows dipping together. "In the study."

"I don't mean to interrupt-" Azriel started.

"Don't be silly," Feye said, "I was just leaving actually."

Azriel nodded tightly and moved towards the house, but Feyre stepped in his path. A small smile flickered over her face as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

"It's good to see you, Az," She said softly, but didn't meet his gaze. Azriel straightened his shoulders, convinced now that she could sense something was wrong.

"You as well, my lady." Azriel said, trying and failing to sound at ease.

Feyre stepped back, a small but sad smile gracing her still very human features. He cringed, recognizing traces of Bryn there. The wildness and fervor that came from living a mortal life, knowing that time was fleeting.

"How many times must I tell you, there's no need to call me that in such an informal setting." Feyre said, drawing his attention back.

Azriel merely nodded. "I must speak with Rhysand,"

He couldn't think of a clever lie to spin, not when his head was so full.

Feyre nodded in turn. "There's a dinner tomorrow. I hope to see you there. We all do."

With another bow he stepped around Feyre and headed into the House of Wind.

* * *

It had been a long, long time since Azriel had visited the study. In the years past while the Inner Circle had spent their days in the war camps, Azriel had spent most of his time outside of the city entrenched in a veil of deceit. He had been younger the last time he was here. Far younger than he felt now. A different person. Practically a stranger.

The room was lit only by a large, crackling fire held in a glittering hearth so large, it filled half the of the back wall. The rest of it was covered with books, stacked somewhat haphazardly in an expanse of shelves that lined not only that wall, but the other three. The ceiling was crafted of domed windows, a thick parade of stars gleaming against the navy blanket of night above. At the center of the room sat upon a circular rug of the finest craft was a large obsidian desk. Azriel's only memories of it was one of chaos; every inch of it's surface covered in papers, maps and ancient texts. But now that they lived in a time of peace and burgeoning prosperity, the desk had been cleared. Blurred flames danced across the smooth surface like shadows of pure sunlight, the warmth of them settling deep into Azriel's bones. Rhysand's chair was turned towards the fire, his head visible just over the top of the ornately carved back.

Questions flew through Azriel's head, each one too obvious or too vague. He couldn't decide which one was the right one to ask.

"Azriel," He greeted, turning his chair. "How is-"

The High Lord's face changed from one of cool contentedness to one flushed with concern.

"What is it, what's happened?" Rhysand asked, rising to his feet with one hand anchored against the desk.

Azriel cursed himself. In a flurry of shadow, he disappeared from the doorway and reappeared in one of the two upholstered chairs that sat in front of the desk. He tucked his wings in and crossed one leg over the other. It took much of his discipline to relax the muscles in his face and shoulders and lean back in the chair. He banished all images of Bryn from his head, sending them into a pit of shadows.

"Nothing," He intoned quickly, running a hand through his hair.

Rhysand lowered himself back into the chair, even though his violet eyes watched the shadowsinger carefully. But if he suspected anything, he kept it to himself. He simply snapped his fingers, and a pair of glasses appeared between them, each one containing a slim line of amber liquid.

"We didn't see you at the party," He began, leaning his elbows against the desk and weaving his fingers together. "Not that I can blame you."

Azriel forced a smirk, but it vanished quickly; the remaining traces settling uneasily in his stomach.

"I'm afraid I wasn't," Azriel started, "...well."

He realized then that he couldn't be sure of what Cassian had told the rest of them. The truth most likely...but what Cassian deemed to be the truth of the situation Azriel didn't know. Cassian had not attempted to see him again since their last rooftop conversation.

Rhysand only chuckled. "If not for the bond, I think I'd try my hand at an excuse like that...not that Feyre would believe it."

There it was, his chance. Heat and smoke filled Azriel's lungs as he opened his mouth. He blinked, struggling to pull the proper words from his throat.

"There is something I need to ask you," Azriel said, never one to mix words.

The spark in Rhysand's eyes rescinded. "Of course."

Azriel ran his thumb over his scarred knuckles.

"When," he started. "...did you begin to sense the signs of the bond?"

He hoped Rhysand would understand, knowing that even if he wanted to he couldn't elaborate further. Speaking Bryn's name, even alluding to her, would let loose the flood he was only just able to hold back.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, unable to hide his surprise. Of all the things he expected the shadowsinger to say, that had certainly not been one of them.

Azriel watched Rhys carefully, attempting to gage the thoughts that stewed in his lord's head. The shadows that pooled around the legs of the chair ached to crawl upwards and take a look for themselves, but Azriel held them back. He knew he had chosen the right question. He had asked them of himself time and time again. Even since...ever since first meeting Mor. But out of respect to both Mor and to Rhysand's precarious familial ties to her, he had chosen never to broach the subject. Even though he had been tempted to do so since word of Feyre's arrival in the city had spread throughout the Inner Circle.

"And," He continued, unruffled. "How did you recognize them for what they were?"

Rhysand leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the desk and he folded his hands together. His gaze turned thoughtful, but no less intense as they faded into a memory. He looked down, avoiding Azriel's eye, and caught sight of his reflection in the smooth surface of the desk.

"Under the mountain," Rhysand said, noting the full body cringe that overtook Azriel at the mere mention of that cauldron-forsaken place. "I began to have visions…"

Rhysand told the story, one that only Feyre had heard. Details were clipped here and there, but Rhysand knew the struggles and sacrifices Azriel had endured to ensure the safety of their lands and he staunchly believed that Azriel deserved nothing less than the truth from him. The truth and most definitely more as far as he was concerned. Even so there were parts of the story that weren't his to tell.

"...it wasn't until Feyre had freed us all," He said, leaning back in his chair. "That I was certain."

He paused, but Azriel said nothing. A heavy weight had filled the room, the depth of Rhysand's emotions.

"I don't know what it was." Rhysand said, finally. "The transformation into a true fae or maybe it was just that the end of the whole ordeal had come and my head was finally clear...but standing on the mountainside, I knew then. I slammed into that realization. So much so that I panicked. I ran from it. It was too much. Too much to take in and...I knew she didn't feel it. How could she?"

A small smile graced his face. "It seems so long ago now."

Azriel couldn't return the smile. Rhysand's words were still stirring inside him.

_I slammed into that realization._

The sensation of the string, that first pang of pain...it echoed in his chest. Azriel rose to his feet, needing suddenly to do something with the nervous energy inside him. Rhysand rose as well; slowly, watching his friend with growing concern. But Azriel didn't see him.

 _I don't know why I thought-_ He suddenly felt foolish. Reactionary. The vibrating in his chest was all at once familiar and troubling. He had felt it so often with Mor. From the moment he had met her. And now that she had gently removed herself from the picture...was he starting all over again? Messy. This was all too messy for a simple answer. But it had given him something to do while Madja worked. Azriel's eyes drifted to the large grandfather clock by the door. He needed to get back.

"Thank you," He said, in a low voice. The shadowsinger's eyes were dark, far away from the study.

"Azriel," Rhysand said, standing again. "You would tell me, if something was wrong?"

"Of course." Azriel answered without hesitation. He could sense that Rhysand was unappeased, but knew the High Lord would not question him further. For now.

With a short bow, Azriel left the study and headed back to his home.

* * *

_**I ran from it...it was too much to take in.** _

Azriel shook his head, Rhysand's words continuing to acost him as he flew.

_This is different...There were no visions, no connection...I didn't see the signs. No like...like it was with..._

Rhysand's words had been helpful, but not in the way Azriel had hoped. What they had done was open a door he had only just closed. Locked up tightly with no intention of ever visiting it again. Not that he could ever forget the day he found Mor.

That day had been different. There had been no string to tug. No inexplicable pull. He had just known. His shadows had known too. From the moment he had woke that day, they had been jittery, reflecting the unease in his heart. Cassian had told him not to go. To leave it be. But Azriel had seen his own trepidation reflecting in Cassian's eyes that day. And when he did leave, Cassian had made no move to stop him.

He had been certain then. So damned certain that he loved her so completely, she had to be his mate. He could breathe more easily in her presence and when they were apart, he felt empty. Hollowed out like some cracked shell washed up on a lonely shoreline. She was an ocean he could happily drown in.

How was it that he could be so wrong for so many years? He had assumed that the fates were testing him. He had assumed so many things…

But Bryn...there had been no such wealth of knowledge. In fact, he had not seen any of it. There had to be signs, there always were. Humans and Fae alike were bound to their thoughts and fears and while some were better at hiding them than others...Azriel could always see. How had he missed them? Was his grief so absorbing? Were his abilities so unknowingly compromised by the truth Mor had unleashed after all those years?

_And if she is my…_

Azriel shook his head, unable to finish the thought. He recalled Rhysand's words.

 _No, she couldn't be._ He decided, even as a small part of him still protested. _I would've felt...something sooner._

He felt foolish. Only two months had passed since Mor had spoken with him and now he was searching for a new connection. Forcing it on the very first female he had encountered after the fact. Azriel believed in the fates yes, but life was rarely so poetic or easy as all that.

He thought about the conversations they had had, the words unsaid.

 _She is...a friend._ He thought as his feet came in contact he the floor of the roof. The word shuttered through him. _And I failed her._

His head spun as the guilt returned, knocking into him like a tidal wave. But he made no move to dispel it. After all, he deserved it. He descended the steps into the house, his heart hammering louder with each footfall. Standing in the living room, he allowed the stillness and quiet to soak through him before moving towards his bedroom.

"She's asleep." Came Madja's throaty timbre from the kitchen. Azriel turned and stalked through the door, even though every part of him was begging to go to Bryn. To confirm Madja's words personally. To see something other than blood. He didn't pose the question, waiting instead for Madja to do the talking.

"I've given her a small dosage of sleeping draught," She explained, running her hands through a basin filled with clean water. By the time she was done, it had turned a sickly shade of pink. "Never having treated a human before, I didn't want to overload her system."

Azriel nodded as his stomach began to knot.

"The cuts are shallow, only a few of them needed to be sewn, but I'm afraid there will be muscular damage. I've healed the orbital fracture," Madja touched her finger to her own temple and dragged it down around her eye to her nose in reference. "But the bruising will take some time to clear."

Nuala appeared silently under the threshold, Madja's coat in her outstretched hands.

"I've done what I can for now," Madja said, crossing to the door and slipping her arms into the coat one after the other. "What she needs is rest. Lots of it. She's suffering from a serious concussion. She will likely be confused when she wakes."

Azriel nodded in understanding, the action though small, caused his head to spin.

"She should sleep through the night. I'll need to do some more research in the meantime."

Azriel escorted Madja to the door, Nuala following closely behind.

"Thank you, Madja," Azriel said, bowing his head to her.

Outside the night air was thin and still, marking the early hour.

"For your expertise," He continued. "...and discretion."

Madja's thick brows rose high passed the thick line of bangs that framed her face, but she nodded in turn.

"Nuala will escort you home." Azriel said before offering his hand to her.

Madja took it without hesitation, though her dark eyes kept a wary watch on the shadows that slid up Azriel's tattooed arms.

"I will return to morrow," Madja promised.

"Thank you," He said again, squeezing her hand. His eyes seemed to glow with the intensity of his gratitude.

Azriel slipped inside, pushing the door shut until the sound of the lock clicked into place. He leaned against the door, exhaustion seeping through his veins.

 _I should sleep._ He thought, but realized it would be impossible. Although his eyes were aching to close, he knew he couldn't give in. He was being pulled in two different directions. There was a part of him that still hungered to return to the farmhouse and tear the men to pieces. Blood lust burned through him as he imagined all the things he wanted to do. Truthteller seemed to hear the thoughts in his head, it called to him. Tempting him to act.

He turned his gaze towards the hall, towards his room that lay at the very end of it. He knew that was where he needed to be, by her side. He pressed his wings harder against the door, wincing at the pressure.

 _I...can't._ Images flashed through his head. He didn't know what to expect, but his imagination was painfully alight. He broke out in a sweat, his throat dry as he tried to swallow down his fears.

 _She's needs..._ He stopped the thought, cursing himself for his foolishness. There was nothing he could do for her now...except perhaps enact revenge.

He spun around and gripped the door handle, when a piercing scream burst from the bedroom and echoed down the hallway towards him like a carefully aimed arrow.

* * *

Bryn did not know where she was. Or even what she was. _Or when…_

She couldn't feel her body, couldn't feel the pain. She floated, somehow both heavy and weightless all at once, peacefully through a silent black sea unabated by color or light. She let her eyes slip shut, listening to the air and water.

Until a voice, slippery and sharp, sliced through the darkness.

_**What did I tell you, darling?** _

Sensation slammed into her like an arrow piercing her chest. She gasped, sucking air into her lungs and began to tremble; she was a leaf caught in a hurricane torn out at the root and utterly helpless in the wake of the storm. With each breath, the pain in her chest grew sharper until she was certain she was doused in flames.

A familiar sight flooded her mind like water rippling across a still pond. She recognized the dusty trail before it stilled, the colors darkened and blurred as the pain traveled to her head a marred her vision. The road was smooth, untouched by prints of any kind, as if traveller and animal alike knew this was a path better left untraveled. Large, gnarled oaks lined each side; their bark black and ashy with sickness, their bodies choked by vines of ivy. Bryn planted her feet in the dirt, but she was dragged forward as if the the very air had taken hold of her. The road seemed to narrow as she was pulled up the winding path, the trees bending closer together as if reaching for her; their branches resembling tentacles as they twisted and turned with far more dexterity than should have been possible.

_**We both knew this day would come. When you could no longer abide those boorish halfwit brothers of yours.** _

Rounding the bend, a towering iron gate rolled into view. It's bars, topped by jagged points, grew taller and taller; stretching into the sky. The latch creaked open, scratching noisily against the rusted lock. The gate swung open at the center, groaning like some wounded beast.

_**Don't you remember? We had an agreement, you and I...** _

From the heavy fog, a figure emerged. Tall and lithe, cloaked in a cape of slate that seemed melded to the mist. Gray irises, so sapped of color and shadow they were almost white seared through her. A smile grew on those thin, pale lips revealing sharpened canines. And though the lips didn't move, the figure's voice had only grown clearer. Louder. Surrounding her like a vice. Fingers, cold as ice, brushed against the hollow of her neck. And she could feel it again, for the first time in nearly seven years. His hunger. His noxious desire that left her paralyzed like an animal caught in a trap.

_**I will find you, Bryn...and bring you home.** _

* * *


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay! I've been plagued by health issues (not covid related). But I do want to say thank you for all of the kudos and comments! They are getting me through a rough, rough time. Wish you all the best in these crazy times.

Chapter 7

_W-where am I?_

Blinking, Bryn tried to steady her vision. But her world was spinning. Splotches of black light popped in and out of sight, marring the blurred shapes and colors that swirled around her. Her head, her limbs and even her bones felt like stone. She could smell burning wood and hear the crackling of a raging fire. It was enough to lull her to sleep, but something was holding her back.

_Tired, I'm...so tired._

She wanted to sleep, every thread of her consciousness was begging for her to do so but her heart was hammering so wildly in her chest she couldn't allow herself to drift away into the dark again. Blood raced through her veins, alerting her nerves as her skin erupted in patches of gooseflesh.

_Something's wrong. Something's not...right. I-_

The answer came like a shock of lightning. That familiar voice, both seedy and sanguine, burrowing in her head like an invading insect; biting into her mind and injecting that familiar poison that left her paralyzed. Bryn gasped, all manner of exhaustion vanishing as air flooded her lungs like water. The warm shadows that danced across the walls around her morphed into a familiar, sinister form. The voice grew louder and clearer until she was convinced that it wasn't just in her head. He was there. Standing by her side.

_No, no, no._

She cried out, cursing as her body betrayed her. She needed to escape but she couldn't move. Memories she had locked away long ago began to flash before her. She could see the tower.

The slate and stone and open ceiling so very far away it seemed no bigger that her fingernail. The staircase sloped upwards, a dark spiral of a prison, the bannister covered in cobwebs as dozens of candles burned with black flames unmoving in the stale air. Water began to flow around her, sloshing up against her sweat-soaked skin and rising up at an alarming speed. She thrashed, groaning as her limbs protested but managed to sit up. As her vision cleared she could see that it wasn't water at all, but something black and warm.

_I...what?!_

Shivering, she plunged her hands into the mountainous folds of sheets and pulled them up. The black liquid looked almost blue as it trickled down the lines etched in her palms.

 _Ink._ She realized, a mountain of words building in her throat.

The ink went still for only a second...and then began to recede as if the bed sheets were soaking it up. But before Bryn could breath a sigh of relief, the ink shifted and began crawl up and and around her body. A shiver ran through her as she realized where it was heading. Ink pooled at the back of her neck, just under her hairline. Entering her. Seeping through the lines where _he_ had marked her. The ink began to fill her up, flooding her veins and organs until she was certain she could feel it leaking through the scars that littered her body. She could taste the ink on her tongue, hot and metallic like liquefied stone.

Fighting and clamoring she screamed again as her hands met with nothing but air and she began to fall. What was only a second seemed like years as gravity enveloped her and pulled her down, down down. She collapsed in a heap on a cold floor. Her legs were tangled in fabric, halting her escape. Her back felt as though it had been slathered in tar; her skin tight and unrelenting. She reached down, panting as she tried to dislodge herself. She had to run. She had to go. But she couldn't even _see_.

_Bryn!_

Someone or something was calling for her. A voice she recognized but couldn't place. There were more pressing matters. A cold hand cupped her shoulder. Her world jolted. She cried out again, reaching blindly to push the encroaching figure away. But she was so weak, so tired and heavy.

"Bryn," The voice called again. Gently this time, lilting and soft.

 _I know that voice,_ Bryn realized. _Azriel._

Her eyes fluttered open to a blur of shadow and blue light. She reached out blindly her fingers hitching onto something cold and hard; metallic. A hand, its surface rippled, covered hers. Her vision cleared and she could see Azriel's face drift in and out of focus above her, his hazel eyes sparked with concern.

"Bryn," He said again.

 _My name?!_ She thought, adrenaline pulsing through her veins and sending a wave of much needed clarity through her head. _He-he said my name, but how? How could he know, I didn't...I can't-_

The memory of what had happened came flooding back to her. What she had done...and said.

 _I spoke!_ She remembered, elated. 

She opened her mouth and tried to speak again...but her throat constricted against her will, the words vanishing from her tongue like flames flushed out by a wild wind.

 _No!_ Bryn thought, anger and despair giving way to the tremendous ache in her muscles. _I spoke...The curse it- something fractured I know it did._

She loosed a shuttering breath, tears flooding her eyes. It wasn't fair. She had spoken. She was sure of it.

"Bryn I-" Azriel started. Hearing her name on his tongue, it was enough to assuage the pain. For now. She had wanted him to know it since the day they met. And now he did. Bryn didn't wait, she reached for him and her arms found his neck and she wrapped them tightly around him.

Whatever Azriel wanted to say didn't come. She felt his hand at her side before it drifted down and tugged loose the fabric still wrapped around her legs. With aching slowness, he lifted her up from the ground. Bryn gasped, her head spinning as the floor fell away from beneath her. With a whimper, she burrowed her head into the crook of his neck. She cursed herself, the trembling in her bones magnified against the stillness of Azriel's form. 

_It's like he's carved from rock._ She thought. She tightened her grip, knowing deep down she couldn't harm him.

Anger, exhaustion and despair mixed together in a toxic concoction and Bryn was helpless to stop the tears from flowing. Whatever had existed between them would be gone now. He had seen her for what she was, a weak and powerless human girl. She wished she could take it all back as visions of their time in the mountains flashed through her, each one of them now poisoned by all that had transpired. Still, Bryn held tightly to Azriel, sobs raking through her like waves.

Azriel's resolve cleaved apart. He could sense it. Whatever power the curse had, it could not defeat the understanding Azriel had been forced to endure. For a single second he could feel all that she felt...all as he had when he was a child. The shame and the anger. The helplessness. The physical pain was eclipsed. It was nothing compared to what lived inside of him after all these years. The ache he hadn't been able to relieve himself of even now centuries after he had been free of them. His family. And then like a flickering light it was gone. Slowly he lowered himself down into the plush chair that sat by the bed. As he gingerly lifted his hand away from her shoulders it found her hair, brushing it away from her sweat-soaked forehead. The ache grew and he constricted, embracing her with a gentleness he rarely indulged in. Hi chin touched her forehead as wet drops flecked across his eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," He said, finally. The words broke as they left him. They were useless now. Meaningless in the aftermath of what he had seen...and what he hadn't. Until it was too late. And yet he was compelled to speak them again. Over and over. "I'm so sorry."

Bryn didn't respond aside from shaking her head frantically from side to side. Her head spun with the desire to explain. He had _nothing_ to apologize for. After a while, the exhaustion began to win out over the turmoil in her head. As her vision blackened, Azriel's voice filled her head. Soft and quiet. A warm light somehow surviving despite the tempest.

_You are safe._

* * *

Madja returned in the afternoon to continue her work and to both Azriel's frustration and relief, she banned him from entering the room. As much as he wanted to be in there, offering up any help he possibly could, the sight of her was too much. The blood had been washed away, but the bruising had worsened overnight, stirring far too many emotions inside of him. He felt as though he had been carved out and filled with storm water. His blood would boil and he would again think about returning to the human lands and making slow, painful work of those men. In the short time he had managed to sleep he had dreamed of it and reveled in the feeling of their bones snapping easily under his hand…But then he would think of Rhysand and what he had given him all those years ago. Control.

Control to decide when and where his brothers would meet their ends. It was a small gesture, but it had birthed within Azriel something he could not live without. For the first time, he held the power. And he would continue to hold it. The choice was his. The shame and the fear melted away and he was able to move on with his life. He left his family behind that day. Left that cellar behind. Taking with him only the darkness which had since been welded to him like sparkling gems in the hilt of a great weapon. He was free. And he would not deny the same courtesy to Bryn, no matter how loud the call of bloodlust rang inside of him.

So he paced, unsure of how to relieve the anger that lingered in his veins. He thought of leaving again, of finding Cassian and needling him into a sparring match, but the risk of being discovered was too great. If he came at Cassian with that level of rage, he would be forced to explain himself. And he wasn't ready yet to explain...he wasn't even sure how to explain.

Madja worked until evening as Cerridwen silently assisted. Nuala had left to attend to Feyre, heeding Azriel's command to say nothing of where her sister was and what they had been up to. He prayed to the fates that his High Lady wouldn't ask and the half-fae wouldn't need to lie for him. He was thankful for their assistance and was already mulling over ways to repay them later.

"Humans are such fragile creatures," Madja said, entering the kitchen to scrub up. "But I'm confident she will make a quick recovery."

Azriel didn't ask additional questions, only waited for her to continue.

"As I said yesterday, rest is key." She slipped her hands into the basin that Nuala had left out. "I'll need to see her again in three days to remove the stitchings. Until then she should restrict her movement to avoid opening them up again. I don't want to have to redo anything."

Azriel nodded. Madja paused, staring at her reflection in the rippling water. She shook her head and reached for the hand towel Azriel offered to her.

"Whoever did this-"

"It's been taken care of," Azriel interrupted, shadows flaring around his neck and shoulders as malice coated his words.

Madja nodded grimly and took Azriel's hand in hers. "I have no doubts that she will be well taken care of. But should you need anything, I will be here."

The grimness gave way to a warm smile that Azriel attempted to return. Cerridwen appeared with the healers coat, ready to escort her home.

"Thank you," Azriel said, his voice thick. "Is she-"

"She's still awake," Madja finished, slipping closed the buttons at the breast of the coat. "But she should sleep."

Azriel only nodded.

He stayed in the kitchen as Cerridwen escorted her to the door, his hand braced against the cool surface of the countertop. Shadows flooded around him, sensing his unease. He heard the front door click shut behind them. Now they were alone again. In his house. Bryn in his bed. All day he had fought the urge to see her and now the time had come.

And he couldn't bring himself to move.

He could still feel her arms around his neck, encircling him in a vipers grip even as she shook as violently as a leaf caught in a storm. He could feel her tears on his collar, burning through his skin. Azriel let his eyes slip shut, inhaling deeply. He knew, intimately, what she must have been feeling. The paralyzing fear of more pain. Of wondering how much more she could endure. For eleven years he had lived through it. And survived it.

He chose never to speak of it. Even to Mor. They had of course danced around the subject. Overtime he had been forced to relinquish bits of information and implications. But to open himself up that way, to unstitch old wounds and pull them apart so that his friends could see truly how broken and desolate he was inside…

 _No_. He stepped back, recoiling at the thought. He knew what would happen. Everything would change. They would all see him differently, as if he had somehow changed shape. Transformed somehow. And that was something he couldn't bear.

 _That's why._ He thought, looking up towards the hallway. _I didn't see because...because she was fighting to keep it from you._

Azriel remembered suddenly his first day at the war camp. The fear that gripped him at the thought of his life being laid bare before the raucous recruits. For years, he had done everything he could to keep his history deeply buried; far down below in the darkest corners of his heart. So he steeled himself and vanished into smoke and shadow; reappearing in the doorway to his room.

She was sitting up, the silken sheets draped over her knees which she had pulled up to her chest. Her chin rested on top of them. Her eyes were open but lost to some far away place. In her hands, arms wrapped around her folded legs, she clutched a mug filled with some concoction Magja had created. Lazy ribbons of steam ascended from the cup, smelling strongly of turmeric and mint. Azriel was glad to see some of the color had returned to her cheeks. Cerridwen had prepared a small tray of food for her, but it sat untouched on the bedside table.

She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped from it, her eyes sliding shut as she swallowed.

"Madja said you should be resting." He said, gently; hoping not to chastise. He was used to this sort of behavior, having grown up with both Rhysand and Cassian's endless barrages of "I'm fine" and now that Feyre too had entered into the mix…

Her eyes popped open and she caught sight of him in the doorway, starting somewhat. Azriel pushed off of the door and crossed the room, lowered himself into the chair that sat by the bed. Bryn kept a careful eye on him. She studied him with the same intensity that had hypnotized him upon their first meeting. Except now it was different. Now he understood the darkness that lay just behind those eyes. The depths of them called to him even now.

"Can't sleep?" Azriel asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Bryn's darted from side to side before she shook her head.

Azriel understood. He had spent many nights fretting over Mor whenever she was duty bound to visit the court of nightmares, over Rhys during those hellish years he was trapped Under the Mountain, over the safety of his city as the reality of war grew so strong it could no longer be denied.

"The tea will help," He said, gesturing towards her hands. Bryn looked down it before dutifully lifting the mug to her lips again.

Azriel rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. When she had drained it completely, he lifted his hand out to her to take it. She passed it over, her arm trembling at the effort of holding the mug up. When he took it, she gestured a thank you and collapsed backwards into one of the many plush pillows that lined the head of the bed. She winced at the pressure on her back and rolled into her side, facing him. Gathering the pillow in her arm, she pulled the sheet up to her stomach. Once she was settled, her eyes flickered shut again and she inhaled deeply. Thinking she was ready to sleep Azriel rose from his chair and turned towards the door, but a small sound stopped him in his tracks.

She turned away from his gaze, but all he needed he could read in her face. Fear...and shame. An empty darkness in her eyes, deeper than any ocean. So he lowered himself back down, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his scarred hands together. For a moment, all that existed between them was the gentle crackling of the fire.

"I'm sure you have questions." He said finally, lifting his chin to meet her gaze.

A spark of light flashed in her tired eyes.

"I have some myself," He continued, quietly.

Understanding flashed in Bryn's eyes and even though he could sense every muscle in her ravaged system go taught, she nodded.

"Bryn," He began. A shiver ran up her spine at the sound of her name on his tongue, instilling her with the courage she knew she would need in this moment. "Who were those men?"

Nostrils flaring, Bryn's eyes rolled back as rage sparked inside of her. She clutched the pillow tightly to her, wishing suddenly to be swallowed up by the cool softness of the sheets never to be seen again.

 _It's gone now._ She thought, her worst fear confirmed. Whatever friendship she had with Azriel would be forever changed. The secret she kept, one of them at least, was lost. He would look at her differently, just like those in the village. She turned her face back to his, expecting to see the pity or the judgement that turned her stomach…

Only to find understanding.

Azriel looked down to his hands and Bryn following his gaze. He swallowed once, his mouth suddenly dry. Slowly, he unfolded his hands and turned them over. He was struck suddenly by the realization that, during the months he had known her, as spring unfolded around them, she had never asked about his hands. Never looked down on them when she thought he couldn't see. He had never wanted people to know. Never offered to explain unless asked. Rhys and Cassian and hounded him. Mor had been gentle. Amren frank. Feyre had yet to ask, but he was sure Rhys had quieted her curiosities. But Bryn...he looked up again. Shadows from the fire danced across her face, melding with the bruising than surrounded her eye. Even though his years of triumph far outweighed those he spent suffering alone in the dark, the shadows of what he had survived still clung to him. The fear would never leave him, the threat of imprisonment rang like a death knell every time he went into battle or on a mission. And though he cursed the memories that haunted him, he knew that fear and determination had led him to success, making him the most feared of the Shadowsingers. And so with a deep sigh, he opened his mouth...

"I was born a bastard…"

And began to tell his story.

* * *

Days turned to weeks and thanks to Madja's care, Bryn was beginning looked more like the girl Azriel had met in the meadow. She had yet to smile and refused the help of Nuala and Cerridwen when dressing in the morning, choosing instead to lounge in the same clothes she had worn at night. As they ate breakfast together, seated at the small glass table that looked out upon the city from Azriel's lush but minimal living room, Bryn would toy with the hem of her silk trousers. It seemed as though she still hadn't gotten used to wearing long pants. This morning they were an cool shade of sky blue. When she sat, she hitched her legs up underneath her and nodded in a sleepy-eyed greeting. Azriel didn't mean to stare, but a smile caught the corner of his mouth as he watched her inspect the fabric. He coughed lightly, attempted to shoo it away and busied himself with turning the page in his book even though he hadn't finished reading it yet.

As always, she took her time eating, picking only small bites and reveling in the taste of each mouthful. They would sit in silence. A silence that was fast becoming as stifling as smoke.

Azriel longed to talk to her. To hear the sound of her voice. In his sleep, he would picture these peaceful mornings differently. He would dream as though he had been dropped into the conversation, like a stone into still water. It would be as though they had been talking for hours and yet he was always torn from sleep the moment she opened her mouth to speak again.

So every afternoon he threw himself into the task of teaching her and she answered back with an equal amount of excitement and determination. He would read to her, speaking slowly and succinctly, his finger tracing the words as he spoke. Bryn would watch, eyes as wide and as hungry as an owl on the hunt, her mind spinning as she tried to take it all in.

He left only when she slept, making enough appearances with various members of the Inner Circle so as not to arouse suspicion that a human had entered into the city unbeknownst to its leaders. He didn't think his High Lord and Lady would object, but Bryn's presence would mark the very first time a human had entered Velaris is many, many years. And he wanted to afford her as much privacy as he could manage. There would be time for introductions, when both of them felt good and ready. 

Azriel turned another page, this one going entirely unread, as he watched her swallow the last morsel from her plate. And yet, he could still sense a hunger in her.

He set down his mug and rose to his feet, shaking the nervous energy out of his wings.

"A cloudless day," He said softly, surveying the city himself. "We could...go out."

Bryn whipped her head around to meet his eyes, hair tumbling over shoulder.

"If you wanted," He continued, looking back towards the window. "I could show you the city."

When he turned again to gage her response, he nearly stumbled back as he took in the smile that was growing on her lips.

Unable to stop himself he said, "Is that a yes?"

She hopped up from the chair with more energy and swiftness than he had seen from her in days. She clutched at his arm, nodding vigorously as her hair danced around her face.

"Very well, then." Azriel said, her smile infectious. He lifted his hand and opened his palm. A shadow pooled in the center of it. As his fingers closed around it, tendrils slipped through his fingers and flew into the air now carrying a summons for Nuala and Cerridwen.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Trust me, it will look lovely." Cerridwen said, her voice a whisper of gentle encouragement.

Bryn, despite her near rabid dedication to assume the role of a perfect house guest, couldn't help but shake her head from side to side, folding her legs in against her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them. The half wraith's face did not falter but Bryn caught sight her shoulders dipping down ever slightly and felt a guilt-laden blush crawl it's way up her neck. She sat in a large clawfoot tub filled to the brim with blissfully hot water and piles of lavender scented bubbles. Having never experienced a full, warm bath in her life she had found herself quickly attached to the bathroom off her room, and quite addicted to soaking each and every day before slipping into bed to sleep.

The bathroom on its own was larger than the attic where she had spent most of her life. The floor was crafted of smoothed black stones arranged haphazardly about the floor, the crevices between them were filled with meandering cracks of gold that glinted pleasantly in the low fire light that filled the room thanks to the large fireplace against the western wall. A long vanity of dark cherry wood occupied the easterly wall, above which sat an oblong mirror. The mirror was boarded by an intricate stained glass design; a replication of the beautiful semi-circular window placed just above the tub. The window itself was etched with stars, each of them shooting up and arching from the center with woven, gold-flecked tails spinning out against a vibrant royal blue backdrop. It made for a lovely tableau that Bryn had often found herself staring at while she soaked. At night, once the sun had set and the city lights sparked to life, Bryn could peer through the colored, textured glass and see a wealth of warm lights flickering like far away fairies. Velaris, at least what little she had seen of it from so high up, seemed like something out of a dream. One that she was anxious to explore from the ground. So, somewhat hesitantly, she turned back to Cerridwen, wondering how to best explain her reluctance.

In truth, she had grown to like the reserved, mysterious sisters. Having grown up surrounded by men her entire life, she was at first at quite a loss for how to interact with them. It had been a blessing then, that her first few days in their care had been (and still were) a blur to her, spurred on by a mixture of exhaustion and whatever potions were mixed into the teas Madja always insisted on her drinking. She knew they were meant to help, but for nearly a week she had felt like a ghostly version of herself, a lost soul entirely separated from her battered body. Most of her time had been spent sleeping or lying in a haze of warmth and comfort. All good things, Madja had assured her with all the gentleness and sternness of a veteran healer. Above all else she needed to rest, even if it felt wrong to do so. Bryn couldn't remember having ever spent so much time in bed or even indoors. And she was quickly growing restless.

In the end, however, she was thankful for the help of the half-wraiths, so much so that it eclipsed all the discomfort that came with her pathetic attempts to properly socialize. All at once, she found herself exhausted from their constant presence, curious as to their heritage and disconcerted by her lack of experience, the depth of which she was only just beginning to understand. She couldn't help her instinct to deny their every attempt to assist her, feeling both unworthy of it and suspicious of their true intentions all at once and, with no way to properly communicate her distaste, it had been rough going for a spell. Yet both Nuala and Cerridwen had been nothing but patient and kind to Bryn in the days since she had arrived and so swiftly did they endear themselves to her. They seemed to sense when she was becoming overwhelmed and never pushed the many boundaries she was anxious to set. They reminded her in many ways of Azriel. Their quiet nature was a vital balm to Bryn, who found herself rarely reminded of the curse and was pleased to discover that, like Azriel, they were careful to pay close attention to her movements and facial expressions, counting each one of them as a word or something akin to it. Which was doubly important in times like this...when Bryn was struggling to explain her conflicting feelings over the topic at hand.

Cerridwen held between her hands a beautiful dress of ivory and cream chiffon. Bryn could make out three layers of the thin fabric, each slightly differing in shade, draped down from the waist to the ground. The top was modest, with a square bodice and sleeves that billowed at the shoulder but were cinched with thin sky blue ribbons at the elbow. Both the skirt and the sleeves were dotted with intricate floral embroideries of pastel blues, greens and creams. It was equal parts charming and ethereal.

 _Much too nice for me._ The thought drummed through her, igniting from a place deep in her mind, one that had been carved by him and carefully reinforced for years. Remnants of words began to drift up from the mire. Anxiety ratcheted up as self-doubt swelled up, she swallowed hard trying desperately to shoo it away. But it was apart of her, like a brand seared through her skin.

_I'm...too simple- not deserving-_

Her stomach wrenched painfully as she thought about her mother's dress, torn and stained with blood and the coat Azriel had brought her which her brothers likely destroyed or sold. She bit down on her lip as the guilt guttered and she contemplated sinking deeper down until she entirely enveloped in bubbles.

"Are we ready?" Came Nuala's lilting call from the doorway.

Bryn started and, without thinking, bowed to her instinct and ducked down. Water swelled up and over her shoulders, causing pleasant shivers to crawl up and down her back even as she cursed herself for being so silly.

"Not…exactly." Cerridwen said, flashing her sister a knowing smile. She swung around, letting the dress flow along with her.

"Oh, that's perfect," Nuala said, with a wink Bryn couldn't see from her bubbly hideout.

"I thought so…" Cerridwen beamed with pride.

Although Bryn was certain neither would ever attempt to chastise her, she didn't want to risk it. So she flung her head up scattering water and bubbles across the floor. Nuala held in her hands a cozy robe, her eyes shifting from the bath to the floor. Bryn nodded in understanding. She gripped the sides of the tub and gingerly pulled herself up. Nuala stepped up to her side, one shadowy hand hovering just under Bryn's elbow in case it was needed. In the days after her arrival, it certainly had been. Bryn's first bath had been a revelation in and of itself and she had been flustered to find that she hadn't the strength to pull herself out on her own. Both Nuala and Cerridwen had been with her though, gently offering their assistance whenever Bryn cast a worried glance their direction. Nevertheless, Bryn was incessantly determined to manage on her own and, even though she had to grunt and groan a bit, she manage to pull herself up. She winced as water trailed down her back and her still healing scars began to stretch and sting as her skin dried. Nuala helped her into the robe and out of the tub, guiding her gently towards the small cushioned seat set before the mirror and sink.

Bryn shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, still a bit shaky from the effort but her mind was still focused on the dress. It was a lovely dress and deep down she was more than a little tempted to slip into it, but in truth, she had never cared for long dresses. They tripped her up during chores and she felt as though she had to drag the folds of fabric along with her wherever she went.

 _Maybe if I…_ Bryn didn't wait to finish the thought. She touched a finger to the corner of her mouth, another sign she had worked out with Azriel, signifying that she had heard his question and was trying to think up the proper way to communicate an answer. It had become one of the many they had created as his lessons continued and, one she found herself using the most often. So much so that it had, along with several others, become second nature to the both of them. She then leaned over, gathering folds of fabric in her hands and pulling them up until the robe's hem sat just below her knees. She looked up at the twins again and shook the fabric from side to side.

"Too long?" Cerridwen guessed, after a few seconds of Bryn's controlled flailing.

Bryn nodded. The twins looked towards the closet, but Nuala shook her head. "Well, I don't know that we have anything shorter."

The hand maids shared a glance. Bryn was petite even when compared to the Archerons, they would have to have clothes hemmed and there certainly wasn't time for that.

"And you can't wear the pajamas."

Bryn held up one hand, palm flat and shook her head affably. She then spread her index and middle fingers wide before slapping them back together again and repeated the action two times.

"You want to trim it?" Nuala said, somewhat affronted.

Bryn, sensing her surprise, dropped her hand and nodded sheepishly.

"I don't see why not," Cerridwen said easily, garnering a pointed look from her sister.

Cerridwen fixed her twin with a similarly keen eye, until finally Nuala relented with a graceful wave of her hands.

Nuala sighed, "Very well, _but_ I have one condition…"

Bryn made to protest, but realized it was likely going to be the only compromise she could manage. She nodded reluctantly.

"You can trim the dress," Nuala said, "if you let me trim your hair."

Bryn huffed. She should've seen it coming, Nuala had made the request several times in the past weeks, but Bryn had her reasons for resisting. Still…

Bryn looked over her shoulder to gage her reflection in the mirror. Even with the fancy soaps and oils from the bath, her hair did look a bit...matted. Nuala always had to take a brush to it, battling to undo the tangles and make sense of the curly mass.

 _I suppose if it is just a trim._ Bryn reasoned with herself.

She turned back to the sisters and nodded. Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged a pleased glance.

"I'll get some sheers," Cerridwen said, excitement laced in her whisper like voice.

"Azriel keeps some in the far right drawer," Nuala called after her sister.

Cerridwen halted at the door and turned back around. She gripped one finely crafted iron handle and pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, she found a sleek pair of silver sheers.

As Bryn watched her, nervously picking at her thumbnail, a thought clamoured for attention at the back of her mind.

 _Az...Azriel keeps...!?_ She whipped her head round to Nuala, worry overtaking her wide eyes as the realization clarified. She reached out, tugging on Nuala's sleeve.

Nuala met her gaze, her own dark eyes reflecting Bryn's concern.

"What is it?" She queried gently, though she couldn't mask her confusion.

Bryn flung her hand out, waving her arm in a wide arch, mouthing her question slowly in hopes that they would catch on.

 _This room..._ She started. _Is…_

She paused, brow furrowing. She stopped, shook her head once, a clue that she was starting over. Nuala and Cerridwen watched her curiously. She lifted one arm and ran her hand, palm flat, facing her face, downwards. As it passed over from forehead to chin, her expression changed from concern into one of stone that somehow, inexplicably, was immediately identifiable as a play at Azriel's patented mask of indifference. She then spread her arms wide, moving them up and down to mimic flapping wings, before spreading them out in a wide circle in front of her. Nuala and Cerridwen, with a synchronicity only twins could muster, stiffened as wide grins formed on their faces. Before Nuala could answer, Cerridwen slapped a hand over her mouth trying to contain a fit of laughter. Bryn dropped her arms, crossing them tightly around her chest as her neck began to flush.

"This...is this Azriel's room?" Nuala tried, biting down on her lip in an attempt to curtail the giggles her sister had already let loose.

Bryn nodded, eagerly awaiting the answer.

"Why, yes." Nuala said, ramming an elbow into her sisters side. The flush deepened, traveling quickly up and bleeding into Bryn's cheeks.

 _Azriel's room. This is Azriel's room._ This whole time she had thought...well, she hadn't thought much of it at all if she was honest with herself. _But..._ Bryn cast her eyes around the room, peering past Nuala to look through the door that led into the bedroom.

 _That's his bedroom. His...bed. And hearth and bath...but if I've been here. Where has he…?_ Bryn sunk lower into the chair, the realization weighing her down.

Nuala, understanding now, placing a hand on Bryn's shoulder and offered her a calming smile.

"There's another room down the hall," She said, gently. "Just as big as this one, I think."

Bryn was hardly placated though. _After all he's done. I'm upending his life...he's not even in his own room._

Cerridwen stepped in, crouching to better catch Bryn's eyes in the mirror. "Azriel doesn't mind. Really, he couldn't care less about these things. The guest room down the hall is almost exactly the same."

 _Almost._ Bryn thought, lips pursing as she tried to contain her distress.

Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged anxious glances as a silent conversation passed between them. Cerridwen stepped back and grabbed the dress from it's hanger. She pulled a padded chair up next to Bryn.

"Now," she said, arranging the fold of skirt fabric across her lap in hopes that would be enough of a distraction. "How much were you-"

Bryn, seemingly in agreement, grabbed the skirt without thinking and pulled it into her lap. Nonplussed, Cerridwen made no move as Bryn plucked the sheers from her hand and, after eyeing the fabric for a beat began to cut into it, tearing off strips of each layer as she went. She made quick work of it, expertly handling the sheers and trimming the layers with a careful eye. When she had finished, she gently set the sheers down on the counter and held the dress up, inspecting her work. Evidently pleased with herself, she grinned up at Nuala and Cerridwen, her eyes searching for their opinion. They both blinked, too surprised.

Bryn glanced back down at the dress, her shoulders dipping.

 _Not good?_ She wondered, a small frown replacing the grin.

Cerridwen recovered first. She perked up and made to take the dress from Bryn.

"Well," She said with an encouraging smile. She gave the dress a good once over, noting that Bryn had perfectly trimmed the front of the dress a bit higher than the back to keep in line with the embroidery. "It looks just right. I'll just...clean it up a bit."

Bryn's smile returned, although still a bit bashful. She nodded her approval and Cerridwen responded with a whispery laugh and a nod to excuse herself.

Nuala watched her sister flit through the door to retrieve a needle and thread before reaching for the sheers and placing a gentle hand atop Bryn's head. With a reassuring smile she said, "Now it's my turn."

* * *

Azriel leaned against the back of one charcoal couches, arms crossed and syphons gleaming deftly in the late morning light. Aside from the crackling hearth, the only sound came from the intricately designed grandfather clock that sat by the front door down the hallway. It was the only heirloom he owned, one that had been deeply cared for by his mother before him.

 _Whatever is taking so long_ , he thought, observing the shadows that swirled around his wrist mimicking his impatience. He leaned forward slightly to better peer down the hallway towards his bedroom. _I hope everything is alr-_

Nuala gracefully slipped into the hallway and Azriel straightened, casting his eyes to the ceiling and trying to do away with the curiosity and concern that they were likely to recognize if his face was anything other than shadow and stone.

"Here we are," Nuala said, in way of both a signal to her mentor and a play at a casual announcement.

Nuala stepped to the side, lifting her arm back to usher Bryn forward.

Azriel opened his mouth to greet her, but found no words.

She looked different and yet more like herself than ever before. Even before they had met in the clearing. There was a lightness in her eyes and a color to her cheeks he had longed to see since he had brought her to Velaris. It seemed the food and the rest were finally doing some good. The dress Cerridwen had chosen was a perfect compliment to her skin tone and her hair had a healthy shine and bounce now that it was free of matting and dirt. Nuala had pulled several small sections from the front back, tying it off that the back of her head with a thin piece of white ribbon. A thin, cornflower blue shawl hung around her shoulders and she wore a pair of woven leather flats.

"Bryn! I-you look," Azriel started, pushing off the couch and straightening. In his peripheral, he caught sight of Nuala and Cerridwen peering out from the hallway, wide eyed and waiting, oddly knowing smiles plastered across their usually cool faces. His feet planted heavily into the floor and he lifted a fist to his mouth, feigning a cough. "It's, ah, a lovely dress."

Bryn ducked her head, but smiled nonetheless. A flicker of mirth bubbled up in her chest. It was strange to hear Azriel use a word like lovely but not as strange as she thought it could be.

"She trimmed it herself," Cerridwen offered, appearing at Bryn's side, beaming with pride.

Bryn flushed, waving her off.

 _It's nothing._ She gestured. _I just like it…_

She grabbed the skirt, pulling it up ever slightly.

 _Shorter._ She mouthed, admiring the fabric and the feel of it against her fingers.

Azriel eyes trailed down, but the slightest breath of a giggle pulled his attention back to his favorite spy sisters. Nuala glared at her sister and Cerridwen bit down on her thumbnail. But before he could even fix them with a chastising glance, the two of them vanished in a puff of glittering smoke.

"Er," Azriel fumbled, lifting one hand to cup the back of his neck, sure enough it felt a shade warmer than normal.

"S-shall we go?" He asked, swallowing hard.

Bryn looked up and nodded eagerly, dropping the folds of fabric. She made for the door but as she passed him, Azriel reached out, catching her wrist in his hand.

"Wait."

It was a mistake. Bryn jolted, nearly jumping out of her skin. She spun to face him, the ease and lightness replaced by fright and stiffness. Her breath hitched in her throat (a near quiet sound but one Azriel's discerning ear could still pick up on) and tried to pull free of his grip. Azriel relented to her immediately, stepping back to give her more space. Bryn caught her freed hand in the other and held it tight against her chest, staring down at it with a hard, far away look.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, cursing himself for being so brash. "I didn't mean-"

Bryn, however, recovered quickly this time. Her cheeks went red and she shook her head again, gesturing _It's alright._

She tried to smile, but Azriel's shadows pulsed around him, sensing that she was still on guard. Still unnaturally rigid. Still unnerved.

"It's...up this way, actually." Azriel said pointing towards the stairs across the room that led to the roof. Bryn cocked her head to the side curiously but followed him anyway. As Azriel climbed the stairs, his anger at himself began to grow. He knew better. Knew better than to make a so sudden a movement. Knew that any unforeseen unwanted touch threw her on edge. Flashes of what he had seen in the field...and what he hadn't began to acost him.

 _How could I have been so thoughtless?_ His hands turned to fists at his sides, syphons glinting. Shadows crept up around his neck, as if trying to console him.

Bryn followed several steps behind, sensing his regret while simultaneously battling her own. She tugged at the strands of fringe that lined the hem of her shawl.

 _He didn't mean it. It was nothing. Nothing to get upset about_ She thought, balefully. _I_ _ **know**_ _that but…_

She couldn't shake the stab of fright that throbbed through her. She could feel it still, radiating in her chest, pulsing as if it were alive inside of her. Still feel his hard grip on her wrist. Pulsing, dredging up ghosts. 

_His grip wasn't even tight._ She thought, chastising herself. When she reached the roof, she could see Azriel standing near the edge, hands propped on his waste, wind tossing his raven hair about. _He's angry...but not at me?_

An honest and relieved smile sparked across her face. She silently stepped to his side, sliding her arm through his, linking them.

Now it was Azriel's turn to jump. He did, but composed himself, looking down at her. Bryn touched his shoulder with her free hand and smiled up at him. Azriel felt the heat in his neck ratchet up several degrees.

"I'm sorry Bryn." He said again, ducking his head. "I'll be more careful, I-"

Bryn nodded in understanding, waving her hand out. _All forgotten._

Azriel sighed, relieved.

"Thank you," He said, the weight of his gratefulness settling heavily around them.

Bryn inched slightly closer, excitement taking over as she glanced between him and the city far below.

"Ah." Azriel said with a breathy chuckle, her cheerful anticipation quite contagious. "Well, the thing is…"

He trailed off. _How to explain?_

He never usually found himself at a loss for words. Then again, there was always the simple, succinct truth.

"We'll have to fly." He said after a beat.

Bryn's eyes went wide. She looked down at the city, peering over to glance at the cobblestone road down below. She followed it with her eyes as it snaked down the mountainside and realized that Azriel was right. If they were to walk...well, she would probably tire herself out before they ever reached the city below.

Bryn took a deep breath and touched her index finger to her chin. _Alright then._

Azriel nodded and slowly bent down behind her. Bryn's mouthful of air left her in a _whoosh_ as he pulled her up into his arms; one tucked under her knees, the other wrapped gingerly around her waist, purposefully avoiding her back. It was as if she weighed nothing at all. Her arms found his neck and she wrapped them tightly around him, trying no to think of the last time she had been in this very position. His shadows enveloped them both like a cool caress of wind. Bryn squeezed her eyes shut tightly, barely daring to breath as she waited for him to take to the sky but after several motionless beats...nothing happened. She peeled her eyes open, one at a time, looking up at him questioningly. Azriel couldn't help but laugh. It was faint and quick, nevertheless the sound of it sent waves of butterflies tumbling over themselves in Bryn's belly.

"Only when you're ready," He said, softly. "I'll go slow this time, I promise."

Bryn took another steadying breath and nodded.

With permission granted. Azriel spread his wings wide, the sound of them unfolding and catching the wind sending shivers up and down Bryn's spine. He hitched one foot up onto the low railing in front of him. Bryn peered over the edge, gasping as the city seemed to swell beneath them, stretching higher than ever before. She tucked her head in, her forehead pressing into Azriel's shoulder.

"Are you ready?" Azriel asked one last time. Bryn nodded against his shoulder.

Azriel's stepped up onto the railing, teetering for just a second before stepping off and sailing into the sky.

* * *

From Azriel's home far above the center of the city, Velaris looked liked a glittering wonderland unlike anything Bryn had ever seen or even dared to imagine. To finally find herself in it, walking down a narrow street alongside Azriel, it felt like a dream with a dream.

 _I should pinch myself._ She thought, eyes darting from side to side, up and down, trying to take it all in.

The street Azriel had landed on was lined with two to three story redbrick buildings, a stark difference to his home of white clay. Even though it was still morning, fae of all colors and kinds walked the streets, chattering and eyeing the shop windows as they passed them by. Bryn knew she shouldn't stare, but though she tried to keep the urge at bay it was impossible when so many fascinating creatures were making their way up and down the lane.

 _Faeries,_ Bryn thought, eyes widening as a lithe woman nearly two feet taller than her walked by. Her skin was dark, the color of sapphires, while her eyes were warm, and pale gold in color. A pair of chattering fae-girls, the first one's daughters perhaps, followed closely behind, whispering and laughing with one another. _I always wondered...the people in town talked about them like they were monsters but..._

"Bryn," Azriel called softly. She turned around, heeding his call.

"We could go to the markets." Azriel said, a casual suggestion meant mostly to call Bryn's attention back. She swirled back to him, her question written plainly on her face.

"There's four of them," Azriel explained, stuffing one hand into the pocket close to his blade. He offered his free arm to her. Bryn nodded enthusiastically and nearly skipped back to his side, slipping her arm through his.

They made their way through the tents at a comfortable pace, Azriel allowing Bryn to tug him along as she ogled the available wears and the patrons around them. As they meandered he couldn't help but smile, pleased to see her out and about. Two hours went by before Bryn could feel the adrenaline in her begin to wane. Her legs and feet were sore from the all the walking and she was beginning to miss the comfort of Azriel's home.

When they reached the last tent in the row, Azriel turned to her, running his free hand through his mop of black hair. "Where should we go ne-?"

Before he could finish, Bryn's stomach emitted a loud and long gurgling sound. Flushing, Bryn slapped a hand over her stomach and dodged Azriel's eye.

 _Oh no...but I don't want to leave,_ She thought, as another grumble ripped through her.

"There's a tea shop around the corner." Azriel said amiably, ignoring the sound for Bryn's sake. "We could stop and get something to eat."

Bryn cocked her head to the side and gestured, _What's that?_

"What's…" Azriel repeated. "...what's a tea shop?"

Bryn nodded.

Azriel smiled, "Would you like to find out?"

* * *

Azriel led her to a small shop that sat on the edge of the Sidra, the one he knew to be Mor's favorite. It was a quaint little building, painting a delicate teal blue. The shop's name was printed in pink paint over the door, next to a yellow striped awning. The waitress, a young faerie with seafoam green skin and a smattering of freckles across her nose, let them choose their own table.

Bryn had pointed to one of the ones outside, a small iron crafted cafe table with two matching chairs and a small porcelain vase filled with vibrant magnolia blossoms. Azriel had insisted that Bryn take the chair with the best view of the river. It was a warm day for early spring, and the smells of freshly blooming flowers and salt from the sea not far off hung pleasantly in the air.

A breeze twined through the alleyways and up the cobblestone street gently tossing Bryn's hair back and away from her face. Her eyes fell shut as she sipped once more at her jasmine tea, breathing a contented sigh through her nose.

Azriel, having already drained his cup, leaned back in his chair. He peered over his shoulder, taking into the sight of the riverside, watching fae pass by. Some of them avoided looking at him altogether, while others cast a wary glance in his direction as they passed. Azriel knew well enough that without the charismatic Rhys or the boisterous Cassian, he struck a far more imposing visage. But he would rather that the passing fae kept their eyes on him than on the human girl accompanying him. The first human to ever walk within the walls of Velarlis since...well, he couldn't remember a time. Perhaps Rhysand would know.

He turned back to Bryn, a frown growing on his face. He could see that she was beginning to fade. The circles under eyes were darkening and she looked as though she could drift off to sleep at any moment.

He could admit to himself, and would likely have to admit to a pestering Madja, that it was too early to take her out but she had been so excited at his proposition, he couldn't bare to withdraw it. That and, he couldn't deny the truth behind his reasoning for choosing today. The weather was mild and warm, yes, but an ulterior motivation lurked underneath Azriel's good intentions: the other members of the inner circle, Elain Archeron included, had only just left Velaris that morning. Varian (and a begrudging Amren) had invited them to attend the first of many festivals held annually in sparkling bay city of Adriata; a precursor to the coming of Summer. Azriel had declined, but fortunately was no met with much suspicion or chiding. He had decided long ago, along with his bastard brothers that, even in times of peace, it was important to have at least one member of the Circle present in the city. Feyre and Rhys, Mor and Cassian even Elain, they had all leapt at the chance to bask in the sun and soft white sands. Which meant that Azriel and Bryn could freely explore the city without even the slightest chance of running into a member of his adoptive family.

 _It's better this way._ He thought without a hint of doubt. _For now._

Azriel could remember vividly that first dinner at the House of Wind, Feyre's wide eyed (and altogether atypical subdued) quiet face, still reeling from all she had been through. Carefully assessing each of them. He could remember the surprise and faint signs of unnerve as Mor & Cassian surrounded her with the intense waves of their personalities. It had been necessary then. Rhysand had known there was no time for idling. War had breached the horizon and was steadily approaching. Still, his highlord had been as careful as time allowed him to be. He had gathered the Inner Circle, told them what he could and implored them all to come as they were. He wanted Feyre to have all the information she could for her to feel comfortable with them, for her to know that they could be trusted even if it meant a baptism by fire. What Rhysand didn't know, what he didn't allow himself to know, that it was far more important than that, that evening had become auspicious in so many ways. It wasn't only the introduction of a potentially powerful ally. No, Feyre had become so much more to them than that.

Unlike Rhysand however, Azriel was not bound to such constraints and he was determined to give Bryn as much time as she needed. And even then…

Azriel was at a loss of how to best proceed. No doubt his brothers, Mor and Feyre, they would have questions. And expect answers.

 _We are too far away._ Azriel thought, watching Bryn as she set her cup back down on the table and tilt her face into the breeze. _Too far to think about such things._

"Bryn," Azriel said, his voice soft, his eyes downcast.

Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head back to him. The corners of her lips turned up, a minute sign that she was listening, one of the few that Azriel wasn't certain she even knew she made.

 _No matter_. He thought, resting his arms on the table. _If she can't see them, I can._

It sparked a strange, but altogether euphoric wave of pride deep inside him. Listening and watching were his specialty, but he had never imagined a situation outside of the war where they would be so needed. So appreciated. It was both a relief and a victory all at once. What was a Shadowsinger without a war or unrest? He always felt guilty, that his livelihood and his skill was dependent on the suffering of others. To find a new purpose for them...it was answer he hadn't realized he needed.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his eyes fixed on his own fingers, woven over one another. He waited a beat, letting her think on it, wincing slightly when he realized it was potentially too open-ended of a question.

He looked up at her, a pang of guilt pulsing through him. The sadness only threatening her dark eyes had grown in. His shadows shuttered around him, plumes aching to reach out for. To take it back. To rephrase. But he held them back.

 _What can I say?_ Bryn thought, brow creasing.

It was times like this that she felt the curse most deeply. It was like tar swirling inside her. Sticking to her insides. Impossible to remove without tearing at her resolve. Impossible...and permanent. There was so much she wanted to say. So much that, try as they might, a few thoughtful hand gestures couldn't possibly do what she needed to convey the words trapped in her head.

She knew what she was, what she had been her whole life...a burden. A burden to her father, to her brothers...and now to Azriel. He had done so much for and, unlike anyone else she had ever known, he never asked for anything in return. It seemed impossible to express everything she wanted to tell him without the power of words. That she was, and would forever be indebted to him for the rest of her life. There was a girl inside of her that she thought she had lost long ago, but since meeting Azriel, she could sense that girl coming back. The parts of her that she was certain had been chipped away, lost to a chasm of ore and ice...perhaps they weren't really gone.

_Without Azriel, I don't think...would I have ever imagined…?_

She looked up, heart sparking as she took in the worry flooding his dark eyes.

_If I can't speak…_

Some things could never be said. Curse or no curse. So what did others do in moments like this? Bryn set down her fork and placed her hand over Azriel's. He started, not expecting it. She squeezed, feeling distinctly the twists and grooves of his marred skin. Their eyes met across the table and a wealth of understanding passed between them.

 _I'm...healing._ The touch said.

 _Thanks to you._ Her smile said.

"Can...can I get you anything else?"

Azriel and Bryn turned, both jumping as they realized the pink haired waitress had returned to their table. Azriel managed to recover first.

"Perhaps…" He said, pulling his hands from Bryn's. "Two more of the blueberry tarts?"

He glanced at Bryn.

"Those were your favorite, yes?"

Bryn looked down at her plate. She had eaten every one of the six different mini pastries that had been placed before her...and yet he was right.

_How did he…how did he know?_

She nodded.

After the waitress had come and again, Azriel said, "We should head back soon, it's starting to get colder."

Bryn couldn't feel it, but she had no doubt he was right. Still, she deflated at the idea of leaving the city center. There was so much they hadn't yet seen.

"We could come back tomorrow," Azriel said, sensing her disappointment. "In the evening."

Bryn nodded in agreement.

* * *

_**The next evening...** _

"I still don't see why Mor got to stay," Cassian grumbled, slamming his now emptied glass onto the table. A waitress appeared seemingly out of thin air to refill it and, for a shred of a second, Cassian managed a grin of thanks before returning to his patented sulk.

The sky above still showed signs of the sunset that had just vanished behind the mountaintop. A mixture of waning oranges and gentles blues, soon to turn dark save for a glowing, nearly full moon washed across the cityscape prompting shop owners and residents to call upon their magic and summon lights. Never one to let the moon outdo it's splendor, Velaris soon sparkled with new color and new life. Nocturnal faes peered out from their homes to start their days and music began to fill the streets.

The Rose And Thyme restaurant, a favorite of Feyre and Rhysand's ever since that first dinner out they had shared with the Inner Circle nearly three years ago was practically empty but soon the evening crowds would descend and the night would begin in earnest. Cassian, along with Feyre, Rhys and Elain occupied what had become their regular table even with members of the circle still away. A grand view of the Sidra was stretched below them. Feyre looked beyond Rhys' shoulder and watched as people walked alongside the railing under warm lantern light, some holding hands and chatting, others leaning over to catch sight of their reflection in the water. She was glad to be home, even if the celebrations in the Summer court had been a raucous good time...for the most part.

"Maybe because she was the only one that didn't make a comment?" Elain offered gently, smiling in thanks to the waitress after she slipped the last of their platters onto the table in front of her.

"What?!" Feyre huffed, turning her attention back to the table and to her sister seated at her side. " _I_ certainly didn't make any comments."

"No, but someone else did," Cassian was quick to point out. He nudged his head to the right two times, eyes pointedly moving towards the High Lord seated beside him. Rhysand was stretched back in his chair, hands tucked behind his head. "and you're fully responsible for his actions."

"I don't see how that's fair." Feyre grumbled, stabbing her fork through a steaming piece of heavily seasoned meat and hurrying it onto her plate.

"I'm responsible for you, too" Rhys said, with a shrug and a smile. He straightened and reached for his own drink, mumbling something under his breath before swallowing a sip of amber liquid. "And you're damn right it's not fair."

Cassian sniggered but Feyre, wanting nothing more than to enjoy the evening, just rolled her eyes and shot her mate a sardonic smile. Rhysand could pay for that comment later.

"If you want to go back and argue with her, Cass," Rhys said, a familiar glint in his eyes. "Be my guest."

Cassian opened his mouth, a retort already ready and waiting, but thought better of it. There was no shame in harboring a passing fear of the petite yet mighty Amren, even now after her powers had lessened some. Of course that hadn't stopped him, or Rhys, from daring to whisper a few playful words about Amren's traditional Summer court dress. Nor did it stop Feyre, and even Elain, from giggling. It had been a near deadly mistake. 

"Varian wanted me to stay." He grumbled instead, before reaching for his fork and dunking it into a plate of spiced meats. "How he convinced her into those robes is some sort of miracle."

"I'll drink to that." Rhysand added, lifting his glass briefly to the air.

"Poor little Illyrian," Feyre teased, hitching her elbows up on the table and fixing her Illyrian brother with a sardonic stare. "Did the scary little lady ruin your vacation?"

Cassian shot an obscene gesture her way. "As a matter of fact, she did. I still have two days to go before I have to head back the camps. What am I supposed to do now?"

"Check on Azriel, maybe?" Elain said in a small voice beating both Rhys and Feyre to the punch.

A thorny silence permeated the table as each of them dodged one another's eye. It was a subject that they had discussed in detail as private pairs, but it had yet to be breached when they were together as a group. At least, mostly together. Elain shot an apologetic look across the table, but Feyre waved it off.

"No, she's right." Feyre said, slipping a serving of food to Elain's plate and motioning for Rhysand to do the same. "I keep wanting to but _someone,"_ she shot an annoyed look across the table to Rhys. "says I should just leave it be."

Rhys, to his credit, didn't pester his mate. He simply pulled his own plate closer and said, "Azriel will come around when he's good and ready."

"It's been almost four months." Cassian said, surprising the others at the table. He had been strangely tight lipped about the matter every time it was brought up and although Feyre and Rhys knew that Cassian had visited Azriel several times, he had never expounded on his brother's goings on and would abruptly change the subject whenever pressed.

"I didn't want to jump to any conclusions," Cassian continued. "But I'm worried about him."

Rhys, seemingly embolden by Cassian's admission, leaned forward, weaving his fingers together.

"Actually, now may be the best time to discuss this," Rhys said, looking around the table. His impromptu late night conversation with Azriel, though it had taken place nearly a month ago, was still fresh in his mind. The look of horror and guilt on Az's face upon his entrance, a lapse in control Rhys had never seen his shadowsinger yield to; followed closely by the very last question he ever expected to hear from him, it was all weighing on his mind.

Rhysand sent a word of apology through the bond to Feyre before posing his theory.

"I think it has to do with Mor." He said. Feyre kicked him under the table, but it was a blow not nearly as strong as it could've been. Rhys feigned a look of pain.

"We shouldn't talk about this now." Feyre said through gritted teeth, fighting the concern and curiosity that battled for dominance in her head. "If you're right, you're right and it's their business not ours."

"Darling, I agree." Rhysand said. "But how long can we let it go on?"

"Az and Mor...can handle it on their own." Feyre repeated, although she cringed hearing how unconvinced she sounded. "When you and I were dancing around the bond, they kept to themselves."

"Says the busybody." Rhys teased, pointedly.

Feyre opened her mouth to retort.

"You know something." Cassian said suddenly, his words bringing a sharp end to the burgeoning lovers spat.

"I-" Feyre said, flushing. "What? No, I'm as lost as you are."

The table fell quiet again as Cassian sized up his High Lady. Feyre dodged his eye and reached for her drink.

"Cassian-" She said finally, looking to her sister for help. Elain, as clueless as the rest of them, merely shrugged. Feyre's shoulders sagged as she ran her thumb along the rim of the glass.

"Is he okay?" Cassian pressed, his tone impatient. He leaned forward, resting his large arms on the edge of the table. "That's all I wanna know, Feyre. If something's happened-"

"O-of course he's okay!" Feyre said, suddenly finding herself on the defensive.

Cassian sat back, crossing his arms, clearly unappeased.

"It's nothing bad, it's I-uh," Feyre gripped her glass and lifted it to her lips; an obvious but necessary stalling tactic. She had to think of something that would turn the conversation away from Mor. Her eyes drifted to Rhys, then to the river beyond him as she tipped the glass upward, letting a large stream of wine slide past her teeth. It didn't make it much farther. As her blue-grey eyes zeroed in on a pair of figures walking along the Sidra in her direction, she promptly spat her near mouthful of wine across the table, spraying Rhysand from forehead to chin.

"Hey!" Rhys sputtered, pushing his chair back and scrambling for his napkin. Elain looked between her sister and Rhys, biting down on her thumbnail to keep from laughing. Cassian, however, blinked and then burst into laughter, slapping a hand to Rhys' shoulder causing him to lose his grip on the napkin.

"Feyre, darling," Rhys said, managing to catch it and scrubbing his face thoroughly before dropping the napkin onto the table. "If I wanted to taste your wine, I would've asked."

He looked up at his mate, eyes glistening in preparation for a snarky comeback but Feyre's eyes were far away, focused on something behind him.

"What is-" Rhys started, gripping the arms of his chair and turning.

"Nothing!" Feyre nearly squeaked, reaching out across the table to grab at her mate's collar. "Nothing, there's nothing."

"Feyre, it's clearly not nothing…" Elain said laughing softly, looking to her sister before turning to peer over Cassian's shoulder.

"Oh! Isn't that…" Her voice trailed off into silence, her mouth falling open.

Cassian continued to guffaw, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he too turned to see what all the commotion was about.

It was Azriel, his usually shadowed visage was lit with a genuine smile and he was chuckling. Beside him walked a young woman, a stranger neither Cassian nor Rhys had ever seen. She was petite, her head only just reaching Azriel's bowed shoulder. Her hair was dark and full, spilling waves and curls over her shoulders and down her back. She was clothed in a mid length cream and plum colored dress and woven flats. Feyre recognized Cerridwen's handywork. Her shoulders were draped with a matching shawl; her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fringe hem as they talked.

Except they weren't talking. The girl was gesturing quickly in a way that at first seemed more like concentrated flailing, but it soon became clear that there was a method to the perceived madness. Once she had finished, Azriel responded in kind mimicking some of her motions and adding a few of his own, intermixing an occasional spoken word here and there. To their surprise, Rhys and Cassian recognized several hand signs they used in battles long ago, but how could the girl have understood?

Whatever it was Azriel had said, the girl's smile widened and she nodded emphatically. Her eyes glistening with cheer, she gazed up at the Night Court's Master of Shadows...as if he were the brightest of suns.

They walked side by side, but even the gobsmacked watchers on could sense that there was tension there. They swung their hands wide, as if wanting to reach for the others hand but neither dared. Instead the girl veered wide, reaching for the iron railing that protected pedestrians from falling into the Sidra. She gripped it tightly, leaning her weight into it, seemingly needing to catch her breath. Azriel appeared attentively by her side, a flash of concern appearing on his face. But the girl shook her head, waving him off. She turned around, lifting up onto her toes to peer over the barrier and down to the slowly rushing waters below. Azriel leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, attempting to look casual as he kept a close watch on her. They 'talked' for several minutes more, before continuing on.

When they reached the small set of wide steps that led up to the row of shops and restaurants, the girl deftly held her hand out, as if she wasn't even aware she was doing it. And Azriel, in turn, lifted his hand to to meet hers. She gripped it tightly and with an encouraging grin, he helped her up the steps. As they reached the top, Azriel leaned in close, whispering something in her ear with an ease and grace that seemed unimaginable to the four dinner mates.

She laughed at whatever it was he had said, pausing to tuck a thick curl of hair behind her ear. And in doing so, momentarily looked beyond, catching sight of the four pairs of eyes now barely thirty feet away from them. Her smile faltered and she pulled her hand from his, stepping away. She looked questioningly up at Azriel. Sensing her discomfort, he leaned towards her, his hand now hovering near her waist as if worried she would tumble backwards. She merely tilted her head up casting her eyes towards the Rose and Thyme. Azriel pivoted to follow her gaze, a pep and charm to his movements the likes of which Cassian and Rhys had never seen before.

But as soon as he took in the sight of his High Lord and Lady, his best friend and his newest companion all staring down at him, all the laughter and warmth sapped from his face. His mouth fell open and reached behind, catching the girls hand once more.

"Azriel!" Feyre called, stumbling to her feet and waving her hand in the air. "Hello! Come and-"

But Azriel shook his head stonily and pulled the girl up into his arms before vanishing suddenly in leaving a wake of purple and black shadows behind.

"Join...us…" Feyre's greeted fizzled into nothing.

The four of them, thoroughly agog at the strange scene they had just witnessed, stood and sat in a din of quiet. Until Cassian couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"Wasn't that…" Cassian ventured after several waning beats. He looked around the table, but the others still had their eyes trained on the spot where Az had been. He pressed on anyway.

"...was that a human girl?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini! Cliff! Hanger! I'm the worst I know. This was one of the scenes I was most excited to write when I first dreamed up this fic. Thank you all for your patience with me and I'd love to hear from you as always!


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Shadows in waves of sumptuous navy and indigo surrounded Bryn in a flurry not unlike a blizzard. Specks of starlight, tiny and prismatic, were threaded through each plume like many carefully sewn jewels. Everything had happened so quickly. Before her foot could land on yet another step, her world was spinning. Bryn was certain she should be frightened. Or at least dizzy. _But I feel...fine. Like I'm-well…?_ She didn't know what to call it. She could feel Azriel's arm around her middle and the strength and power that ran through his fae-adjacent body. It radiated off of him always, but now that she was pressed against him, the pair of them seemingly shooting through space at what she imagined was an alarming speed, she could feel it as easily as she could feel her own heart beat. What had once frightened her, stirring both reverence and instinct, had changed. She felt... _Warm...and safe._

The sudden stop that followed, however; now that was enough to turn her head. Her hands balled up into fists. Her arms which, during flight had been almost casually draped around his shoulder and chest, ensnared his neck with the veracity of a boa constrictor. Her eyes pinched shut as the roaring winds subsided, leaving behind an eerie, almost unreal silence. Muted colors, mostly reds and golds, danced lazily underneath her eyelids like blurred blots of paint against a pitch black sky. The whirring winds stopped as well. Silence following. She could practically smell the night air on him.

"I-I'm sorry," Came Azriel's voice, uncharacteristically breathless. "I don't know why I-"

Bryn could feel his fingers trembling against the shallow turn of her waist. And his heart, too, was pounding like a drum beat. She could feel it as surely as she could feel her own, pressed up against him as she was. They seemed to be almost in sync, fluttering like fireflies. Her eyes shuttered open, curiosity and concern winning out over her flight anxieties. _If that's what happened._ Bryn thought, confusion joining the swirl of emotions that floated through her head. _That wasn't like before. It was fast and dark and...kind of thrilling._

With the sun now fully set, her eyes needed little time to adjust. She could see the city down below; gleaming like a chest full of precious gems. The sunset had only just passed on, the mountains to the south were crowned in a warm peachy glow that would soon sink down past the peaks. Far up above, the first of the glittering stars were visible against a deep blue sky.

 _Oh!_ She realized. _We're...home._

Home. The word had tumbled out of the depths of her conscious quite by accident. It hung in the air, still but loud...and heavy somehow. She couldn't shake it away. A flush crawled up her neck.

 _A-Azriel's home._ She tried to correct herself, frowning. _Not-this isn't, I'm just a guest. It's the house that I'm- it's not like I-_

"Bryn?"

Bryn turned to him, her brows shooting up in a pathetic attempt to seemed untroubled. Azriel's hair too, had been tossed and fluffed by the shadowy flight. Several stray curls fell over his browline. Bryn could feel her cheeks go hot, _And here I thought he couldn't possibly be any more attract-_ she didn't dare dwell on the thought - _well, I can fix that._ As Azriel continued his unnecessary apology, Bryn pulled her arm around and plucked a thread of obsidian hair gingerly between her index finger and thumb and pulled away from his brown line and back into place.

As Azriel watched this unfold, a look of perplexity overtaking his concern. Bryn's brows knotted together as she continued her work, gently pushing the hair from his face with a seriousness that was nothing short of charming. She patted down the final stray lock, the corners of her mouth turning up with pride. Azriel managed a small smile too. A small nearly silent breath of laughter left him as he gingerly setting her down onto her feet.

"Thank you," He said, lifting one hand to scratch at the back of his head. His mind was still a whirl. It was a rare, extremely rare, situation to find himself caught off guard. He didn't like it.

 _How could I have been so careless?_ He thought, frowning.

To lie to his High Lord and Lady...he'd never stooped so low before. Not that it was an outright lie. No, he had never been asked. About where he had been going. At least not by them. Cassian though...Azriel loosed a groan. Now he knew too. He would have to deal with...all of that. And soon. He looked to Bryn, who was tugging nervously at a stray lock of her own hair.

Azriel sighed, his shoulders falling. It was to her that the first explanation was owed. But he was unsure of how to even begin.

"Bryn," He started, his voice even more restrained than usual. He gestured towards one of the plush divans that dotted his rooftop terrace. Understanding, Bryn floated over and sat down, pulling the hem of her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Moving slowly, the cogs in his head still turning, Azriel sat down beside her, tucking his wings in tight so as not to accidentally brush up against her. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and weaving his fingers together. Bryn watched him patiently as he tried to untangle his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," Azriel said finally, his eyes locked on his hands. It had been a long, long time since he had ever really seen the scars that covered them. Longer still that he had cared to notice the reactions from newcomers. They were apart of him. No different than a freckle. He ran his thumb across his finger, feeling the ridges and lines. Like dried up riverbeds. "I wasn't thinking…"

His voice trailed off into nothing. He had hoped the answer would come to him. One that didn't seem so self-serving.

"Those people were...they _are_ my family-"

Azriel's shadows shuddered, his ears pricking up as Bryn inhaled sharply beside him. He straightened. Bryn's hands had turned to fists, clutching tightly to her shawl. Her dark eyes were alight, fire and brimstone echoing in their depths. Anger, not fear, radiated off her in waves.

"Oh," Azriel said understanding shifting to face her. "No, not my brothers."

Cassian and Rhysand did look, from far away and perhaps up close as well, as though they were of the same blood.

"My new family," He corrected himself. "Not the one I was born into, but…"

Bryn's shoulders relaxed and the heat in her eyes faded as he continued.

"My real family." He said, eyes sparking in earnest. "The one I chose...and that chose me."

Azriel sighed, moving to stand as nerves jittered inside him. His hands went to his pockets and he began to pace back and forth in front of her. Bryn lifted her chin, following him with her eyes. He seemed...off-kilter in a way she hadn't seen before. It both intrigued and worried her.

"I haven't...told any of them about you." Azriel admitted finally, unable to meet her gaze. "Nuala and Cerridwen and Madja, they're the only ones who know you're here."

 _Oh._ Bryn continued to listen, even as unease sparked in the back of her mind. _It's just as you thought._ She could feel a familiar, sinking blackness begin to leak through her system. She tried to push the sensation away and instead focus on what Azriel was saying.

"In fact, you're the first human." Azriel explained. "To enter into Velaris in centuries."

Bryn turned her attention away from Azriel, looking down upon the city. Her eyes followed the curving line of the Sidra until they reached the sea. Gentle breezes began to circle inwards towards the land, snaking up the river until finally reaching them.

 _Of course a place like this wasn't meant for humans._ Bryn thought to herself, unknowingly feeding the blackness.

As if sensing her thoughts, Azriel lowered himself down to his knees in front of her with all the stealth and grace of a dance. He lifted his hand, placing it gently over hers, calling her attention back. Bryn met his gaze, but the intensity of it was almost too much. She felt the blush looming again and swallowed hard. She felt her grip loosen on her shawl and his fingers snaked through hers. Butterflies stirred to life in her stomach. His eyes, as dark and as dazzling as the shadows that surrounding him, were piercing through her like a knife's point.

 _I'm forgetting-_ She thought, _to breath. H-how do I-_

"You have every right to be here," Azriel said, ardently. "Rhysand and Feyre...I've no doubt they would welcome you wholeheartedly. They mean...everything to me." He continued, wanting to explain. Wanting her to understand. "But, they can be _a lot_. I didn't want to...well, to frighten you."

Bryn felt some of the doubt dissipate under the sheer, unwavering force of his sincerity. She nodded, hoping to assure him that she understood.

"They will," Azriel continued, "want to know why you are here. Why I brought you. And I didn't want to force that conversation onto you so soon. Not until you were ready. Not until you had time-"

Azriel's eyes darted away from her. It was the truth. But it didn't seem right. At the time, he was certain he had been right. But now he wasn't so sure. He should have been honest with her from the outset. With Rhysand and Feyre too. And Cassian. He was beginning to flounder. Shame and self hatred broiling in his veins.

Bryn could see it. It wasn't often he let down his guard in such a way. It was almost alarming.

 _All because of me._ She thought, _he did this all...kept me hidden away from his family. To protect me._

A sickly sweet sensation warmed her from the inside. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as best she could into a hug. She felt his body go stiff at first, but after a moment he relaxed and she could feel his arms hovering around her waist until they very slowly and gently made contact. The lightest of touch imaginable.

 _Thank you,_ she mouthed, pulling one arm free so that she could sign the words as they had created them. _There's nothing..._ She shook her head. _To apologize for._ She blanched and the blackness, sensing her sadness doubled back. They had no signal for that yet. Apologize. It was a complicated word. So many of them were. And though they had together made so many strides towards better communicating, there were times like these when it felt more like a drop in the ocean. It was maddening.

"I know." Azriel said, _At least I think I do._

He hoped she understood too. With that done he could move on to-

"Cassian," Azriel muttered under his breath. Bryn cocked her head to one side, not understanding.

"My...well the bigger one?" Azriel said, drawing he hands back to hover above his shoulders to indicate Cassian's infamous silhouette. "I should...go see him. And try to explain. I owe him an explanation." 

Bryn nodded, even though she didn't want him to go. She could feel the blackness growing, it's fervent caress gnawing at spirit.

_But I can't- I mean I couldn't possibly ask him to stay. There's no good reason. And his family is...his family._

She watched him vanish in a swirl of shadows somehow even darker than the surrounding night. She looked out and down to the city below. The sun had dipped further down south, taking with it all the warmth and light from the day.

* * *

She was alone again. It wasn't long before the unease returned, settling into the marrow of her bones. Making its home. It's presence painfully known. A deep and dissonant ache grew out from her heart, pumping through her blood stream, offering its power to the voices in the back of her head. The one chained to her, whether by the curse put upon her or by her own fears, she could never be sure.

 _He's hiding you._ The voice spoke, it's presence like that of a vipers...sliding up her neck and hissing into her ear. It was hers, yes. But it was also his. And someone else's, some amalgam of the person she once was and the person she came close to becoming, locked away in that aging palace of ore and stone. His visage was clear in her mind's eye. His bright, almost white eyes, sparking with gleeful malice. The mocking smile. The poison laced within the words. And the truth. _He swept you away so quickly. Didn't want you to see them. Didn't want them to see you. Why do you suppose that is?_

Bryn stood up, the adrenaline pulsing through her needed attending to. A chill she hadn't felt before snaked around her neck, slithering down her back, hugging the curves and knots of her spine. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and crossed her arms together across her chest. Searching the night sky for some measure of comfort or solace, but finding none.

_You don't belong here. You're mortal. You're cursed. Perhaps he's risking punishment to keep you here. Perhaps it's too late for him. Humans aren't supposed to be here after all. In the land of the fae. It isn't natural. This...cohabitation._

Bryn tried to breathe, but she couldn't gather enough air into her lungs. Her fingers itched to cover her ears, foolish enough to hope that it would be enough to block out the voice. But she knew it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough. A tightness began to grow in her chest, the turmoil pulled and pounded and stretched beneath her skin. It was everywhere within her, there was nowhere for it to go. She felt as if she would burst.

"Stop," she whispered, her hands traveling up to her neck, her fingers tugging at curls in her hair. She needed it to stop. Needed a release.

_Or maybe...maybe he's embarrassed._

She stumbled backwards, her legs hitting the chaise. She gripped the fabric in one hand, the other fell down to her chest, clutching at the fringed hem of her shawl. She doubled over, feeling suddenly tired and heavy.

_Of course. That's it. He's helped you and now he's stuck with you. A mortal girl. Defective. Unable to speak for yourself. Can't even read or write. Do you think he pities you?_

Bryn didn't want to believe the voice in her head, but the words it spoke rang true. She couldn't deny them. Couldn't run from them. She knew that until she could find a way to break the curse she would never be free of it. It had been bound to her since her birth. By circumstances beyond the realm of her control, by words forged like weapons and by a deathly pale set of eyes. She knew, that truly she was nothing. A worthless human. A body that should never have seen light.

A warm breeze lifted up from the town, carrying with it the smells of the city. Food and warmth, smoke and floral notes. She could smell jasmine and tuberose. She turned her eyes back to the view and the shadow ebbed, if only by a fraction. Even though a storm raged in her like a blanket of black clouds, she could still see the beauty in this place. Velaris. The color and magic.

 _You broke through the curse once._ She thought, causing the shadow to shudder. _It was brief but...you did it. You can do it again._

She straightened, eyes slipping shut as she remembered to breath. She placed one hand on her middle and focused instead on her breathing. With each inhale and exhale, she felt the tension in her shoulders and chest lessen. Her senses felt renewed, she could hear the soothing sounds of the evening more clearly. Somewhere in the distant trees that dotted the mountain behind Azriel's home, an owl was cooing gently. Calling for his mate. The breeze tickled the tree lines, sending leaves shaking in a calm, pattering echo. This place was alive. This place was thriving.

 _And if I'm to break this curse._ Bryn thought. _I need to be too._

She knew how to start. Azriel had given her all the tools. Feeling restored, Bryn rose and headed down the stairs into the house.

* * *

Azriel chose not to winnow. He still had much to think over. He was always careful with his words, but when it came to Cassian he was much more vigilant than he was with other members of the Circle. Cassian was like a match in that way, coarse and tough but easily ignited. And once ignited, he could come close to burning even the closest of his allies. An outsider might look at the group and believe Amren to be the truly dangerous one. And in many ways she was. But Amren was a paradox. Both fire and ice. It took a lot more than a few barbed or deftly veiled words to light that spark. Cassian on the other hand...even the most trivial of suggestions could set him off. It was amusing, most of the time. Even Azriel found that he could enjoy it on many an occasion. There were even times when Azriel would allow himself the pleasure of being the instigator. Usually it manifested itself in a perfectly harmless yet snide retort, the sort that would leave Cassian speechless and the rest of their comrades sniggering. But there were the rare times like this where his words would carry far more weight, and thus demanded more attention and care in their choosing. He could use all the time available to him, even if it was only a minute or two more. He still set Bryn's comfort and security above Cassian's wounded ego.

With a flush of shadow he landed in front of the restaurant. Instinctually, both his shadows and wings spread around him as a shield of sorts. Every tendril of muscle, every hair, bristling in preparation for what he could only imagine would be a barrage of questions and demands for information. But there was no sign of Cassian. Or Rhys or Feyre or Elain. Azriel cursed under his breath. _So many explanations to make._ All of them, even he had to admit, could have been avoided.

 _They were supposed to be gone longer than two days._ Azriel thought to himself, his wings twitching, mirroring his annoyance. He cast his eye down the trails of the Sidra, to the palace that Feyre & Rhysand had built from rubble. The shadows around him hissed and pulsed as a mixture of shame and self-hatred grew. He had _lied_ to his High Lord and Lady. Perhaps not directly, but he had hidden information from them. Something he had swore never to do centuries ago. Azriel knew, better than most, that second chances were hard fought battles. Especially within the Circle. Rightfully so, Rhys was still far from earning back Mor's trust, after the choices he had made leading up to the fight against the king. Azriel's shoulders fell as the weight of his own choices began to grow. He considered his options. Cassian came first. If only because Azriel was certain that his reaction would be more explosive than that of Rhysands. And even if her were mistaken, he was certain that Feyre would handle Rhys in his stead, if only for the night. He couldn't admit, even to himself, the thought of seeing his High Lord and Lady now...of having to admit to his deception. He couldn't. Couldn't see it through. Not yet anyway.

So Azriel's wings expanded once more and he shot into the sky, wondering where his bastard brother could be.

 _I'll just have to explain it all. Tell him the truth_. Azriel thought, _It's all he'll accept._ He knew what Cassian would ask. He could hear the questions in his head. Who was she? This girl. A human girl. What prompted him to bring her to Velaris? Azriel sighed as wind and light fluttered around him. He still didn't have an answer. Not really. Not like he usually did. His world revolved around shadows and facts. He could sense the truth on a level the others couldn't. His senses were alight to it. Sometimes he could hear it threaded through the voices of his targets. Sometimes it was so clear, so loud and so brazen that he could taste it on the air. Or smell it in the fear that radiated from his victims like invisible vapors.

 **Instinct**. His shadows whispered, giving him the answer he needed.

 _Yes of course._ That was something even Cassian could understand. It was paramount to their Illyrian heritage. It rivaled that of Rhysand's. No, no it was enough to surpass it. Rhysand had too much of his father him in. The steady hand, the willingness to sacrifice more in order to lead. He understood the rawness of his emotions yes, but he had been born with only half of that blood running through his veins. He had the tools within him to combat the wildness of his mother's blood. To tame it if needed. Azriel could attempt such control in ways Cassian couldn't but even he knew deep down there were some emotions he could never hope to control. No matter how hard he tried.

Azriel was pulled from his thoughts as a light along the Sidra caught his eye. It was a small, iron lamp hung above a deep navy door. It stood out, not because it was any brighter than that of the surrounding homes but because it was unusual to see it lit at all.

In many ways, Cassian and Mor were very much alike. Though they had both been granted homes of their own by Rhysand, they very rarely frequented them. While Mor was happy to traipse through the palace and the House of Wind, Cassian split his time flitting between the war camps and the palace. In times of peace, it was difficult for the warrior to keep himself as busy as he would like to be and often resorted to amusing (or annoying) his friends to ease his restlessness. While Mor and Azriel both retreated to spaces of their own when necessary (Azriel more so than any other in the Circle), Cassian seemed instead to loathe time spent on his own and to combat it he would seek out companionship, sometimes even tucking in at Azriel's house or a night or two. So to see the light flickering in his home, was a rare sight indeed. The house that Cassian had chosen was perhaps the most modest of the bunch. Even though Amren's was smaller by comparison, she had stocked the loft with so many jewels and gems, clothes made of the finest fabrics and furnitures of such a superior craft that it always seemed more stately by comparison. Cassian's home however was oddly minimalistic. Likely due to the fact that he spent very little time there. Like Mor's however, it occupied a prime location along the center of the Sidra. The two story townhouse was crafted entirely in rich woods and metals. A true warriors home, carved from the earth and scantily decorated with it's natural treasures. The great room at its center sported towering ceilings, the exposed beams stretching up at dramatic angles. A large fireplace of shaved and shined stone pieces occupied a good section of the main wall. Whenever Cassian was home, it was lit; stocked to bursting with wood collected from around the camps. The smell of it, earthen and heady filled every corner of the home which, along with the disquiet of cozy crackling of embers, made for a peaceful, welcoming atmosphere. It reminded Azriel of the shreds of pleasantry he experienced in the camps as a child; huddled around a fire with Rhys and Cassian in the cabin belonging to Rhys' mother. As Azriel stepped through the door, he was reminded against of those times. Heat pressed up against him from every angle as he pulled the door shut behind him. But it wasn't heat from the fire.

He hadn't bothered to knock or call out. He realized on the flight down that if Cassian was home it could only mean one thing: that he was expected. Sure enough, Cassian had settled into one of the high backed leather chairs that sat in front of the roaring fireplace. He had likely purposefully chosen the one that faced towards the door. Azriel loved his bastard brothers deeply but he couldn't argue that they both had a distinct inclination for the dramatic. Even from the short distance between them, Azriel could see Cassian's equally amber eyes were hot and trained on him with the same intensity he usually reserved for the battlefield.

Azriel stepped down a small flight of stairs into the room, tucking his wings in as he lowered himself into the seat across from Cassian. His shadows settled in too, twisting and twirling with the ones that flickered across the room against the dancing firelight. Despite knowing how much it would irk Cassian, Azriel had adopted his usual easy mask of indifference.

Between them sat a small wood carved table, bearing a tray of various dark liquors and several ornate glass tumblers. Azriel leaned forward and helped himself to a shallow splash. Cassian had a drink of his own and, as per usual, it was filled higher than it arguably should have been.

 _Oh brother, how transparent you are,_ Azriel thought, pleased to find a pocket of amusement in the messy depths of this situation he had dug himself into. He would need it, if he were to get through the impending conversation. When he dared to look at Cassian again, he was surprised to find the warriors eyes were no longer trained on him, but on the firelight before them. Flames reflected in his eyes fluttered fervently and a hearty crackling loosed from the center of the fire as another log gave way to a barrage of hungry embers. Azriel lifted the glass to his lips and sucked in a long, readying swallow.

"You're back early." Azriel ventured, attempting to keep his tone light and innocent.

Cassian flinched at the sound of his voice. It was a minute move, only visible to the likes of Azriel's eye. Yet he made no move to respond. He only shifted his gaze to his glass and lifted it to his mouth.

As he drank, Azriel dared to press on. "Summer court not to your liking?"

"Who is she?" Cassian said, allowing for barely a breath of quiet to float between Azriel's query and his own.

Azriel sighed, the air flowing from his nose as his lips remained pressed into a thin, unmoving line. It was so like Cassian to breeze past the pleasantries. So like him to take his shot at the first hook. Azriel would have danced around it, enjoyed watching his opponent squirm a bit. But his brother was never quite so reticent. He should've suspected it. And yet, as only Cassian was able to, he was caught quite off guard. He tilted his glass, eyes locking onto the liquid within and watching the light play off the golden surface.

"She is…" Azriel began slowly, his voice as slick and as dewey as the contents of his glass. "A friend."

Cassian snorted into his drink. A half hearted, if not lame attempt to hide his surprise.

"A friend." He repeated after a moment of perplexed rumination.

He finally met Azriel's eye. What he saw was pure steel and sincerity.

"A human friend." Cassian elaborated, as if speaking the words out loud would help to clarify them. "You know the humans are afraid of us because we kept stealing them away those centuries past."

"I didn't-" Azriel started, shadows flaring around him defensively. He knew that Cass had meant it as a joke. But after what he had seen. In light of everything he still didn't know. The thoughts that kept him up at night. That darkened with each passing day. To even kid about such a thing was something Azriel could not abide.

"I didn't _take_ her." Azriel tried again, but couldn't quite contain the guarded bite in his tone. "She...I-I-"

 _Shit_. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. He could practically sense the confusion and amusement that fought for dominance in Cassian's seat across the table. So he paused, took a breath to collect himself and started from the beginning.

"These past few months," He said, eyes darting back to his glass as his thumb traced the rim. "There have been...revelations put to me that I…"

Images flashed through his mind's eye. Mor asking to speak with him. The teary conversation that had followed. His grip on the glass tightened as the shadows around him rallied in whispers to keep him on track.

"-That I should have seen before." He finished, rather lamely. "I'm not proud, Cassian. Of the mistakes I have made. And seeing as I've made so few…"

Cassian managed a single barking laugh at the Shadowsingers faltering attempt to ease the tension, still too agog at witnessing his usually cool friend flounder to find the words to respond.

It was all the encouragement Azriel needed. Cassian was angry with him yes, but not so far gone as to be humorless. A small, tired smile drifted across Azriel's face.

"I found myself ill equipped to deal with it all." He continued. "I just knew I needed time. And space. To make sense of it. So I left Velaris. In search of...I don't know what exactly."

"You could have come to me," Cassian said. It wasn't a question, but Azriel could sense the anger and the doubt behind it. He knew that, even before Bryn's involvement, he had already wounded Cassian.

"It wasn't that I didn't want to," Azriel explained, meeting his brother's eye. "but to do so would mean...It wasn't something I could...I couldn't betray the trust that had been granted to me."

Cassian nodded. He wasn't sure yet to what Az could possibly be referring to, but he knew that whatever the case, Azriel wouldn't lie to him.

"I headed south. I don't know why. I just needed the distance. There was clearing. It was quiet. And beautiful. So I kept returning. Whenever I needed the feel that quiet. To escape this city. That's where I met her."

He went silent for a moment. Cassian waited patiently for him to continue.

"Bryn. Is her name. She stumbled upon that place too, I think. I didn't seek her out. Nor did see seek me out. At first. It was...nice. To have someone outside of the circle, outside of my spy rings to talk to. So we continued to meet. For several months. Just to talk. Until…"

New memories flashed before his eyes. All the signals he had missed. Or misinterpreted. They seemed so clear to him now. So obvious. He had been ignorant, careless. The shadows at his shoulders began to shudder, quivering and growing like a mass unto itself. They molded with the shadows around the fireplace, pushing against the firelight as if trying to wrestle the flames into submission.

Cassian watched, alarmed as a distinct chill began to settle over the great room. He rose from his seat, wings spreading as the flint in Azriel's faraway gaze turned razor sharp. There was real depth to the darkness in those eyes. It was rare that Cassian had seen it. Rare for Azriel to allow anyone to see it. Cassian didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Az," Cassian called, warily.

The shadows retreated at the sound of his voice. Light fluttered back into Azriel's eyes, his attention drawn away from wherever his mind had taken him. But there was still anguish there. And regret. Cassian could see it as plainly as he could the shadows.

"What does this have to do with the girl?" Cassian asked slowly, his curiosity winning out over his concern.

In response, Azriel leaned forward and reached for the decanter. He stood, his empty glass slipping from his hand and falling silently on to the lush carpet below. Azriel looked down at the glass indifferently before shrugging. He took two steps towards the fire to feel the heat of it, needing it to be closer. He leaned one arm against the mantle of the hearth and drew the decanter up to his lips. Cassian watched, his hands wringing together as her bore witness to the strange sight before him. He'd never seen Azriel at a loss for words. Or so tied to the drink. It was unnerving to say the least.

"I followed her one day." Azriel said finally. But it was all he could manage to say. His throat began to constrict. He had the words, prepped and ready, but he didn't dare speak them. He couldn't. Couldn't admit to them. Couldn't dare to relive them. To speak them and give them life.

He could feel, in the back of this mind, that the decanter was starting to slide from his grasp. But he felt frozen, unable to speak the words and wanting to. And yet, at the same time, not wanting to. But before the decanter could slip away completely, it stopped. Azriel looked up to see Cassian standing next to him, his hand clutching the bottom of the glass.

"Careful there," Cassian said with familiar glint in his eye. "That's expensive grog you're holding."

Azriel attempted a breath of laughter, but it came out lifeless. He allowed his hand to slip away as Cassian pulled the decanter free. Azriel leaned his forehead against the mantel, shaking his head.

"I can't," He admitted. "It's not my...I have no right to tell it."

"Tell what?" Cassian pressed, gently.

"Bryn-Her story," Azriel said, "What was…"

 _What was done to her. How i found her._ Every possible end to the sentence he was forming seemed so cruel. Too terrible and too real. _How I failed her..._

"I brought her here." Azriel pressed on, speaking through gritted teeth. "Because she needed help. "That's...that's all I have to say. All I can say."

Azriel could feel Cassian's eyes on him, but the warrior said nothing for some time. The soft crackling of the fire was all the noise that permeated between them.

Finally, with a sigh Cassian retreated back to his chair. Azriel lifted his head from the mantel and watched Cassian from beyond his armored shoulder.

"Alright, alright." Cassian said amiably, as if he were his old self again and all the anger was forgotten. "You're off the hook...for now."

Azriel studied him for a moment, before nodding in silent thanks.

"Now sit down. You're not the only one with stories." Cassian ordered, reaching for his glass and pouring another heaping splash of amber liquid into it. "I'll tell you how that snarky little whatever-the-hell-she-is got me kicked out of the Summer Court. _**Again."**_


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A thread of sun was visible on the horizon by the time Azriel left Cassian's home. The mixture of warmth from both the fire and several glasses of good whiskey still pulsed through his veins. As his wings pushed him up and up into the depths of an endless blue sky, he could feel a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He was grateful to be on good terms with Cassian once more. Rare was the occasion they found themselves at odds. Although few in the circle knew, he fought more frequently with Rhysand but they were usually small disagreements, easily remedied. Cassian on the other hand, was much like bear. To poke him would be a fool's error and it took time to assuage any wounds or lingering anger. Azriel tried to avoid it at all costs for Cassian was the sort of person he had always imagined a good brother to be. Boisterous and brave, a true friend but never afraid to take the piss of out of him when the situation called for it (or didn't call for it). Azriel was thankful for him. Thankful still that the wall he had purposefully built up between them had been destroyed. At least, he could see through it now. How silly it was to keep it up for so long.

He landed on the roof of his home, breathing in the pre-morning air mixed as it was with the scent of the flowers that lined the hillsides and salt wafting up from the oceans far below, before heading downstairs. He paused on the middle step, his hand gliding gently down the dark wood bannister. He had expected Bryn to be asleep by now. She was, but not in her room.

The fireplace that sat in the center of the wall, grand on it's own but perhaps paling in comparison to Cassian's, was still sparking, stoked by magic the High Lord had gifted to all of his friends. It's soft crackling was the only sound to breach the comforting stillness. Bryn was seated on the floor in front of the large crescent couch sat before the hearth. Her arms were crossed over one another, propped up against the low glass table where many of their lessons were held. Her head rested in her arms, strands of curly black-brown hair falling over her face and down her back. Azriel stepped down and rounded the staircase, shadows rising up over his shoulder and peering down at her curiously. Ink was everywhere. In splotches and stripes. Deep navy fingerprints littered the corners of the pages and could even be found dotting the table in several spots. At least, where the table could be seen. Aside from the ink pad and quill cup, the surface was practically covered with sheet after sheet of parchment, all spread about haphazardly. Several pages were covered in attempts to neatly write out four letters. BRYN. And next to them, in equally varying degrees of skill were six others: AZRIEL. Underneath several pages he found sheets of lettering. Each one a tad neater than the one before it.

 _She's been practicing._ With a smile, Azriel knelt down next to her. His eyes shifted, taking in the mess with a whisper thin chuckle. With one hand, he fingered the corner of a page, the one directly in front of her, the bottom half of it trapped under her elbow. She had attempted, several dozen times it seemed, to copy his uniquely angled handwriting and by her last attempt had managed a fairly uniform copy. She was learning quickly, putting in the work. Soon enough, he hoped, she would be able to write full sentences. And then, maybe, they could 'talk' unimpeded by misunderstanding.

He shifted onto his knees, propping his elbow on the couch, his head on one closed fist. Taking in the familiar peace of the morning in bloom, he watched her shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

 _It was right,_ he thought, shadows settling around him like draped fabric. Upon seeing his friends, his family, he had been certain he made a mistake in keeping Bryn a secret from them. But now, having spoken to Cassian, he knew it had been the right call to make. Bryn needed time to settle. To rest.

 _No, not needed._ He amended. _She deserves it._

He thought back several weeks, to his last conversation with Madja.

" _She's coming along," the healer said, helping herself to the tea Azriel had laid out. "But rest is still key. I've done what I can to heal the scars on her back but...much of it still remains."_

_Azriel stood across from her, leaning against the kitchen counter. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest, a makeshift shield to brace himself for whatever news Madja had. Aside from steady improvements, none of it had been what he would call 'good'. With Bryn well out of critical condition, Madja had been working her magic on what amounted to corrective healing. Her face was healed, her vision unobstructed. But there were traces of nerve damage and strain beyond her years. Azriel was glad for every visit, but his relief was tarnished by guilt. It lingered in the healers wake, like the smell of smoke long after a candle had been snuffed out._

_Madja was experienced enough in her position to sense the question Azriel wanted to ask. She took her time, spooning another sugar cube into her cup and watching it dissolve._

" _Bryn is very much human," she explained, swirling the spoon. "Their bodies are not as susceptible to certain kinds of magic fae's are. There's only so much I can do for her, especially because much of the scarring isn't all that recent."_

_Azriel's eyes shifted from the tiled mosaic floor to Madja's wizened face. This was new information. If they weren't recent..._

" _How," he started, thickly. "How old are they?"_

_Madja set her cup down. "I can't be certain. I have little experience with mortal anatomy. But if I had to guess, five years? Maybe seven? They are...layered."_

_Azriel felt waves of nausea creep up his throat. He could sense anger in Madja's words. He felt it keenly. Five years. Seven. One...would have been one too many. How long had this been going on? Since before he had met her. Long before, it seemed. Azriel didn't want to think on it. That cottage was so close to the wall, so far from town. Had she really been alone all that time? Left to contend with those savage, deplorable brothers of hers? Azriel knew intimately what she must have experienced, but he had been lucky. His powers had manifested at a young age, giving him a way out by the time he was eleven. But Bryn...she was, well, he didn't know._

" _Do you know how old she is?" Azriel asked, curiosity getting the better of him._

_Madja shook her head. "Not her exact age, if that's what you're asking."_

_It was._

" _You could always ask her." Madja said plainly before finishing off her tea._

_Azriel met her gaze, but said nothing. She had a point. Leave it to Madja, he thought, to speak honestly. Bluntly._

" _Isn't that rude?" Azriel countered._

_Madja considered it, amusement clear in her aging features. "Perhaps if she were high fae. Or...an old friend. A much older male or women may take offense. But I doubt she would."_

A birch log covered in embers broke apart; the sound of it causing Bryn to stir. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned, pulling Azriel from his thoughts. She sat up straight, one hand moving to her face to rub the sleep from her eyes.

"Good Morning," he welcomed, softly.

Bryn turned to him, too dazed to be alarmed. She simply smiled, happy to see him, and mouthed the words back to him.

"I'm sorry," Azriel said, "I didn't think I would be gone for so long."

Bryn shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. She balanced her chin on her left knee. Her dark eyes, still cloudy from sleep, taking in the tendrils of flames that danced in the hearth a few feet away. Azriel followed her gaze and they sat in silence for a time, watching the sun creep up from the ocean and cast the city below in soft, golden light.

"Bryn," Azriel said, finally. "I was...wondering, if you would like to meet my family. Today."

She tensed. The move was slight, visible only to someone with the skills Azriel possessed. Still, he pressed on. Now that the Inner Circle, well most of them anyway, were aware of her existence, he knew he couldn't keep them at bay for very long.

"Just one of them." He amended. "They're harmless really. Just...excitable. I don't want to put any pressure on you but, now that they know you're here..."

Bryn seemed to be considering his proposal seriously. After a moment she lifted her hand, index finger extended. _Just one?_

Azriel nodded. "Just one."

Bryn sucked in a deep breath, but nodded.

_Alright._

* * *

_Why am I so nervous?_ Bryn thought as her fingers knotted into the fringe of her shawl searching for loose threads to tug on. She stood in Azriel's living room, too jittery to sit still. After a quick breakfast, Azriel had left her to change and by the time she had finished he had already gone to retrieve his "dearest friend" as he had called him. Or her. They? She wasn't sure what fae called themselves. There was so much she didn't know.

 _Or am I not nervous enough?_ She thought, pushing off the back of the couch and walking around the front of it for the seventh time. _This is his family...and I'm a human whose not supposed to be here. I think. I'm not really clear on that._

She caught sight of her reflection in a long, gold-flecked mirror leaning against the wall.

 _No wonder he left. It took me so long to get ready._ Bryn thought, flushing. _. Maybe I should've called for Cerridwen & Nuala._

The two fae had been with her since the beginning to help her bathe, change and apply the balms Madja left behind between visits. After a while, however, as her strength grew, Bryn was struck with the desire to manage on her own. She knew the two of them only wanted to help, but she felt more and more like an invalid the longer they pressed. After much insisting and even a quite word with Azriel, they agreed to remain away unless Bryn specifically called for them. It was a challenge at first, to see how much she could get done on her own. There were certainly things she needed help with still, but dressing and bathing were not one of them. Not that they didn't come with their own sets of challenges. One being, she had never before had to decide what to wear. Nor had she ever had a packed wardrobe to rifle through. Her clothes had always been hand downs...from her brothers. She would stay up nights in front of the fire, tearing and ripping old tunics and shirts; sewing them back together, trying to craft something that looked less like a loose sack and more like something that was made for her much smaller, feminine frame. She did enjoy that sort of work. Sewing came easily to her and if she had time in the day, she would practice more artful styles and even some embroideries. She never imagined she would have access to such beautiful fabrics and colors and patterns. Amongst the pile were several shorter dresses Cerridwen had brought over (only after Bryn had taken a pair of scissors to many a floor length option). After much fretting and many trips from the closet to the mirror and back again, Bryn had chosen one of those for the afternoon's outing.

It was a simple sundress of midnight blue. Crafted of thick linen, it was sleeveless, but the hem was cut high, keeping her back well covered. What Bryn liked most about it was the matching lace overlay that hung loosely from her shoulders, ending at her waistline. Patterns of small birds and floral designs had been stitched all over. It was some of the most beautiful craftsmanship Bryn had ever seen. As she inspected it in the mirror, she wondered if she could ever master such an arduous technique. The ivory shawl draped around her back was not needed, but it offered her a feeling of security she wasn't yet ready to do without. She shimmied the shawl down her shoulders, letting the fabric catch on the crook of her forearms and swayed from side to side.

 _It's so lovely,_ she thought, admiring the dress again. _Such a shame to cover it…maybe just this once I could-_

A knock came at the door, causing her to jump. A second later it opened and she heard Azriel's slate-smooth voice float down the hallway.

"Bryn?" He called, gently. "We're here."

Bryn leapt back from the mirror, turning her head to make sure her hair didn't look a mess. Azriel appeared at the end of the hall.

"Ready?" He asked, a hopeful glint in his eye.

Bryn shook her head 'yes', even as butterflies churned like mad in her stomach. She cursed herself as she felt her cheeks go warm.

"This is Morrigan." Azriel introduced as an equally lithe figure sprung around from behind him.

 _Oh..._ Bryn thought, the air nearly knocked out of her. Bryn could count on her two hands alone the number of women she had known in her life. Even so, she was fairly certain she stood before the most beautiful of female specimens. She was high fae, of that there was no doubt. Tall and svelte, she was dressed in surprisingly simple clothes, a long dress of deep scarlet red with transparent sleeves that ended at her wrists in thin gold clasps. Her hair, like spun sunlight, spilled down her back in soft waves, a small section of it was pulled back above her ear and pinned in place with a with two metallic clips bearing jeweled stars. Her lips were stained apple red, the color truly popping against the bronze color of her skin. But it wasn't just her features that registered beauty, as stunning as they were. She wore a smile that glowed more brightly than any perfectly placed angle, curve or gemstone. There was a joyous spark in her warm brown eyes that miraculously banished the butterflies in Bryn's stomach. Surprising, as Bryn was conditioned to be distrusting of strangers, no matter their gender.

"Bryn," She said, her voice honey soft as she stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hello."

Bryn's eyes shifted back and forth between Azriel and Mor's hand. She wasn't sure exactly what she was meant to do, but she felt compelled to lift her own hand, mirroring the fae's actions. Mor took it gently, placing her other hand over Bryn's.

"I'm so happy to meet you." She said, and Bryn was certain she meant it. "And please, call me Mor, no one important ever calls me Morrigan."

She directed a pointed look at Azriel, who was watching Bryn with a careful eye.

 _I can't_ _ **call**_ _you anything._ Bryn thought acerbically, a familiar but nonetheless bitter sting slashing through her ribs. She was certain Azriel had promised to explain her...situation before hand.

As if reading her mind, or at least realizing her inadvertent gaffe, Mor's brilliant smile faltered.

"Oh, I didn't mean…" She said, looking instantly apologetic. "In your head, you can call me that. If you think about me. Not that you'd spend a lot of time thinking of me or-"

As she rambled on, looking helplessly at Azriel, Bryn felt the bitterness fade away. She wasn't sure whether she should turn away or laugh. So she pushed her hand forward, finding Mor's and circling her fingers around it. She shook her head and smiled sincerely, hoping it would convey her dismissal and cause the awkwardness to dissipate. 

Azriel stepped forward too, meeting Bryn's eye and said, almost sheepishly, "I thought of all the people to start with Mor would be-"

"The least objectionable." Mor finished, a mischievous glimmer in her eye. " _By far_. Isn't that right, Az?"

 _Az._ Bryn repeated in her head. _A nickname?_

"I would've thought so," Azriel said with amusement. "But here you've gone and done something I was certain only Cassian was capable of."

Mor scoffed and playfully punched at Azriel's arm.

A nickname. Azriel didn't seem like the type that would want for one.

 _Then again, what do I know?_ Bryn thought. _What is...what is happening?_

As she watched the pair of them exchange lighthearted barbs, she felt apprehension swirling in her head. It traveled down and she tried to swallow it, but that only allowed it to pool in her chest, like a rock settling into a shallow pond. 

_Is it nerves again?_ She wondered as something sharp pricked at the back of her mind. _No...this feels different. Somehow._

"I thought we could go for tea." Mor said, drawing Bryn's focus. "Maybe shop around. Azriel isn't exactly a reliable guide when it comes to this sort of thing."

When Bryn's brow furrowed in confusion, Mor giggled.

"You know, something _fun_." She said with a wink.

Azriel smiled wryly, rolling his eyes at the jab. The prick in the back of Bryn's head only grew hotter. Larger.

 _It...bothers me._ She realized. They were just teasing each other, but it seemed to come so easily. _Like family._ _Azriel seems...brighter somehow. More relaxed. More...like himself._ Bryn could understand the feeling, she felt lighter too. Mor seemed to have a knack for putting the people around her at ease. All her nerves were gone. _So why? Why does it make me feel...like I-_

She couldn't even decide what it was she felt. It defied description. So she shook the thought away, not wanting to dwell on the negative. She was determined to make a good impression and prove to Azriel that he had no reason to worry about her, no reason to keep her hidden away.

 _After all he's done for me,_ she thought. _This is the least I can do._

* * *

Just over an hour later, Azriel stood before the door to his High Lord and Lady's palace. It was a sweeping estate, tastefully picked over by its owners. Set against a peaceful stretch of the Sidra, it boasted several great rooms, a central garden flourishing with both carefully tended flora and visiting fauna. Fireplaces (stoked by magic, with no need for a chimney) and comfortable furniture decorated almost every room, art from The Rainbow was prevalent throughout. Even though the estate had only just recently been completed, it was difficult for any of them not to glide through the threshold and feel instantly at home.

 _If only,_ Azriel thought, shadows slinking around his shoulders. _I was worthy of such a feeling._

He pushed the thought away, even though he couldn't deny the truth of it. As shadowsinger and spymaster, lying was as much a part of his anatomy as bones and muscle. One of many tools necessary to do his job well and earn his keep. He was good at it. But he didn't like it. Especially not now. When it had come so naturally. Even in the face of his dearest friends. His family. With a sigh, his forehead fell against the wood door, his eyes slipping shut as another wave of guilt washed over him. The shadows around his feet rose up, as if to comfort him. But he shooed them away too.

He was grateful to Mor. For her understanding. For not asking questions, even though he could tell she wanted to. Even though he knew he would soon be obligated to answer. He knew she would enjoy showing Bryn around to the places he had missed. He hoped Bryn would enjoy it too. It gave him the time he needed. To see Rhysand and explain himself. Being able to talk to Cassian had been an important step, but it was hardly what Azriel would call a complete success. Cassian may have let him off the hook, but Azriel hadn't really explained himself at all. Azriel knew the reason of course. Despite his constant huffing and howling, Cassian's tough hide hid a surprisingly soft heart. It was never difficult to reach it. But Cassian was not Rhysand. Not in countenance or title. Azriel owed his loyalty and strength to the people of Velaris, but Rhysand was beholden to them by his very blood. Not only was Azriel certain Rhys would expect answers, he knew that he was entitled to them. Bryn was, after all, the first human to come to Velaris since the fateful battle. It certainly was illegal. Not anymore at least, but the precedence had yet to be set. And her presence had gone unbeknownst to the city's own High Lord and Lady for almost two months. If such a lapse in security were to ever come to light...

 _I can't even get the words out._ Azriel lamented. _And if I can't do that-What is he going to think?_

He straightened. His hand hovering over the handle to the door. He was never one to wing it, he usually had his words planned out well in advance of speaking. But his mind was a fog whenever it came to Bryn. He felt sick at the very thought of what he would need to explain. He could feel a dark, deep rage spark in his gut. It was familiar. And dangerous.

An amused voice came at him from behind. "You have to push, you know."

Azriel looked over his shoulder, the white hot anger dissipating in an instant. Cassian was leaning against one of the columns that held up the roof above, grinning like a cat. He was dressed in his usual attire, his hair swept up and back. A thin sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. He must have just come from his morning workout. Azriel turned, swallowing down a deep and heavy sigh.

"What are you doing here?" He asked stiffly. He wanted to talk to Rhysand first. Alone. Hell, he had come knowing full well that Feyre was working at her studio in The Rainbow. The thought of more than one pair of eyes on him as he attempted to explain plucked at his anxieties. Azriel's wings flexed instinctively, but if Cassian noticed, it did nothing to deter him. He pushed off the column, his hands going to his pockets.

"Figured you could use some back up." He said with a shrug, casting his eye to the side.

Azriel's shoulders fell. Cassian's attempt at casual indifference was neither successful nor welcomed. It was his favorite tactic, other than outright mockery or disdain, reserved only for members of the Inner Circle. He'd seen it used on Mor and Feyre, even Rhysand on the odd occasion, but never on him.

"I don't need-"

"Uh-huh" Cassian interjected, pushing past him and opening the door himself. He stood in the entry hall, his dirt splattered leathers a hard contrast to the polished stone floor underfoot. Azriel stood his ground, even as his shadows crept closer to the doorway, wanting to enter. His lips pursed into a thin line.

"Az," said Cassian flatly. "It's Rhys. What exactly do you think he'd going to do? Banish you?"

"You don't know the whole story." Azriel reminded him pointedly.

"I'd _like_ to." Cassian responded. He folded his arms over his chest begrudgingly. When Azriel said nothing, he sputtered, "how many times have you laid your life on the line for Rhys. For this city? For Feyre and her sisters? Don't you realize the _lengths_ you would have to go to...to undo all of that?"

Azriel's eyes sharpened as he considered Cassian's words. It was a surprisingly good argument. But no matter the logic behind it, Azriel could not shake the voice in that coiled, poised like a snake in the darker recesses of his mind, ready to strike the moment he let his guard down, the moment he chose to believe that he wasn't in the wrong. The one that _knew_ he had done something unforgivable. And also knew...that he had no regrets. That was perhaps the true source of guilt. That lack of shame. That total and complete assurance that what he had done had been the right thing to do. To betray the word of his High Lord and friend, to the promise he had made all those centuries ago. And to have done it so willingly. That was what was eating him up inside. He could only hope that finally admitting to it would help assuage the pain. If only a little.

"Alright." Azriel said, stepping inside. He bowed his head, the weight of adrenaline pulsing and pounding through his system as the pair of them made their way to the study, where Rhys was most likely to be.

It was similar to the one that sat, now practically abandoned, at the House of Wind. The only difference being Feyre's obvious touches of warmth and the addition of several art pieces. Two large desks sat against an expanse of book shelves to the right, They were equal in size, but diverging in styles. Rhysand's was crafted of dark cherry wood, sturdy and sleek. Feyre's was daintier by comparison, but artfully made and much more orderly. While Rhysand's desk was stacked with papers and maps, books and empty glasses, Feyre's was clear save for a small stack of books and several sheets of parchment, where notes were scribbled. A candle and Rainbow-made tea set took up the most space. At the opposite end of the room, a grand fireplace sat, magically stoked at all hours of the day and night. A large map of Velaris, achingly precise in artistic detail hung above the mantel. The scent of burning sandalwood and rose hips filled the air and floated out the doors that led to a sweeping courtyard brimming with greenery and color. No doubt Elain was proud of the years showings and the work she had done to craft such an enchanting garden.

Rhysand sat in one of the lush emerald green armchairs by the hearth, a book in one hand. The small side table next to him was stocked with a still steaming mug of tea and plate of pastries. Azriel stepped in first, Cassian close behind. The shadowsinger could sense his brothers anxious energy and knew Rhysand must have felt it too, but for perhaps both their sakes, the Fae Lord kept his eyes trained on the pages of his book until the pair had drawn close enough that even a distracted human would take notice.

Golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, appraised them both and Rhysand smiled. With one hand he closed the book, the pages slapping noisily together, and tossed it aside.

"Cassian, Azriel," He greeted in his usual amused drawl, crossing one leg over the other. He hitched one elbow on the armchair, fingers playing with a stray curl of obsidian hair behind his ear. "This is a surprise."

"It's not," Azriel said tightly, in no mood to tolerate the usual pleasantries.

Rhysand's eyes shifted momentarily to Cassian. Azriel could sense his brother shrug from behind.

"Has something happened?" Rhysand asked, the bell-like timbre of his voice wavering only slightly.

Azriel's hands turned to fists at his sides and he cursed himself. He wanted to control this anger, this all-consuming rage, but he knew what was coming and he knew he was powerless to stop it.

 _Just get it over with._ He coaxed himself as his shadows, darkening, swelled around him. _Over and done._

"You know why I'm here." He said, finally. His hazel eyes turned toward the fire, unable - or perhaps not quite ready - to meet the gaze of his High Lord head on.

"Alright," Rhysand said carefully. He shifted in his seat, an odd look lighting in his eyes. His hand motioned to the matching emerald velvet couch across from him.

Azriel obeyed, moving swiftly around the back of the couch and dropping down into the seat, his wings tucked rigidly behind his back. He rested his arms on his thighs, clasping his hands together as one knee bounced nervously up and down. Cassian followed suit, his eyes shifting from Rhysand to Azriel and back again. Rhysand too, watched Azriel, his curiosity (which even he couldn't deny had been steadily building since yesterday) turning quickly to mild alarm. He directed a pointed look back at Cassian who only shook his head to silent express his equal confusion.

"Perhaps...a drink?" Rhysand suggested.

"Couldn't hurt," Cassian said, answering for the pair of them. His eyes were still trained on Azriel, but he was unable to hide a twinge of amusement. Cassian and Rhys could both remember many an occasion when they, as young boys, would try to rattle the stoic, seemingly impenetrable Azriel, just to see what would happen. Never once were they successful.

 _What is it people say?_ Rhysand thought, his own amusement sparking to meet the growing sense of dread in his gut. _Be careful what you wish for?_

Rhys snapped his fingers and the tumblers that sat on the table between them were filled again. Azriel reached for his, but did not drink. Looking down into the depths of the cup, he assessed his reflection. Rhysand looked to Cassian and lifted his glass. Cassian mimicked his High Lord and they both drank deeply.

"Az, I-" Rhysand began, setting his glass down.

"It was not my intention to deceive you." Azriel said, the words tumbling out at such a wind-sprint speed Rhysand struggled to follow. When he put the pieces together, he chuckled.

"Azriel," He said, leaning forward, trying to catch his brothers eye. "I'm not upset. Whatever your reasons, I'm sure they were warranted. In fact...I have no doubt of that. I should hope you don't think so poorly of me."

Azriel looked up, mouth falling open. "No, I didn't mean to off-"

"But it is curious," Rhysand continued, his eyes locked onto Azriel's. "That you chose to hide it."

Azriel could feel the words pressing into him like waves. He knew Rhys did not mean to wound him. In fact, he appreciated the honesty. He would rather feel this guilt than see his High Lord dance around the truth. It didn't, however, dull the pain. The shadows surrounding him swelled.

"Or...should I say _her_?" Rhysand amended. A chill licked up the back of Azriel's spine.

"It was a mistake." He relented. Some of the pressure in his chest lessened. He took a deep breath and continued. "In hindsight, I should have come to you directly. Immediately. I did, actually."

"I remember," Rhys interjected.

"-but I wasn't honest with you." Azriel continued. "I felt that..discretion was needed. Not for my sake or yours...but for her. She needed time. If I could tell you...when I _planned_ to tell you I would…"

Azriel stopped. He could feel his brother's eyes on him, drawn in waiting not so patiently for him to continue. He swallowed the nerve to curse aloud. This wasn't going as smoothly as he had hoped. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken with anyone this way. Rambling and correcting and doubling back. He was certain they were as struck by the oddity of it, too.

"But I had no such plans." He admitted, attempting to speak more plainly. "I didn't expect to see you yesterday...I'm sure that was clear enough."

Rhysand waved his hand in dismissal.

"Time," he repeated, mulling over the word as only he could. "Time for what?"

Azriel swallowed, but even though he had just downed another hard swig, his throat felt painfully dry. They had come to it. As he knew they would. His shadows went still, as if frozen in time.

"Her name is Bryn." Azriel said, his voice shuttering. "She is a human, but that is not why I...kept her presence here a secret."

Rhysand and Cassian both waited patiently for Azriel to continue.

"I did so, because-" Azriel stuttered, after a beat. "Because...I knew that knowledge of her presence would bring questions. Why is she here? Who is she? Where is she from. And...the answers to those questions…"

 _You're rambling._ He thought. _Not making any sense._

"I'm not sure I follow-" Rhysand said. Cassian shifted in his seat.

"It's a long story." Azriel said, practically breathless. He could feel sweat pooling at his browline. "The end point being...that I took her from her home with her permission, but before that- I...killed someone. A human. Possibly two of them. I can't be sure."

A heady silence swelled through the room, interrupted only by the steady crackling of the fire.

Cassian, of course, was the one to break it. "You did what?!"

But Azriel had eyes only for Rhys, watching him with the intensity only he was known for, looking for any sign of a reaction to gage. The High Lord's golden eyes had gone dark, his expression unfathomable.

"You're," Rhysand started, his voice a low rumble, serious and stony. "...not sure?"

Azriel loosed a long, thin breath. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because if I were to go back there to confirm it," Azriel answered impatiently, his voice alight with a steady, almost dangerous assuredness. "I'm certain I would finish the job. Kill the rest of them."

Rhysand's eyes met Azriel's again. He made no move to speak, but Azriel could sense the question that loomed in his mind.

"When I brought her here. To Velaris. I did so because-because…" His voice turned hollow and heavy. Ice flowed through his veins. With a curse, he rose from his seat, just as he had at Cassian's several hours earlier, seeking out the warmth of the flames. As much as he hated it, he wanted to remember that anger. He wanted his brothers to understand. Why he did what he did. But his mind was a storm. He couldn't bring himself to say what he needed to say. He watched the tendrils of fire, his unblinking eyes stinging from the heat. A hand clapped down on his shoulder, pulling him from his nightmarish reverie. Rhysand stood next to him.

"If it's easier." He offered. Azriel sucked in a breath, understanding. Rhys meant to bridge their minds. It was a gesture Azriel knew his High Lord meant to be supportive, but it usually made him uncomfortable. The connective thread he could form was powerful. To Azriel, it was like being stuck with a knife. Always leaving a wound. More often than not, Azriel declined such offers. But this time, he merely nodded. It would be a living hell, to have to explain...to describe what he had seen. What he had done. This would be far quicker. Cassian stood and crossed over to them, stepping up to Azriel's other side and braced himself. Rhysand's mind reached out, like a veil of evening light, connecting the brothers together. Azriel closed his eyes. Before he knew it the memory overtook him and he sent it out for Rhysand and Cassian to see.

 _He flew through the sky at breakneck speed. At first, Azriel thought he was headed back for the clearing, but he sped right passed it. It only took a glance to note that the wolf was gone._ _ **That creature.**_ _Azriel thought. It's growl still echoed in the back of his mind. Vicious and imploring._ _ **But for what?**_ _Azriel didn't know. He wasn't sure where he was going, but his shadows did. He had never been able to explain it himself, how they knew things even he didn't. There was no rhyme or reason behind their instinctual pull, not that he needed to know; as all he did was benefit from their knowledge. He often wondered if they were somehow a part of his conscience. That they only allowed him to tap into the deeper recesses of his mind._

_The pain he felt mere minutes ago, like a bolt of lightning striking through his core, had gone. He could, however, sense distinctly the absence of it. Waves of adrenaline, hot and anxious, radiated through him in its wake. His shadows sensed it too. And they were poised, ready for another blow should one come. As he flew, the blanket of trees below grew sparser until he reached the very edge of the forest...and the end of the Spring court. He didn't need the physical wall to sense where one court ended and another began. He dropped lower, knowing he was now safe from any watching fae trackers or spies, humanoid or otherwise._

_**What could possibly demand my attention here?**_ _He thought, a question posed to his shadows even though he knew they would not answer back. Not in that way, at least. A structure caught his eye and he barreled down, instinctively taking cover behind one of the larger trees some several hundred feet away. With uneasy eyes, he surveyed the landscape before him. It looked to be farmland. To his left at the base of a small hill, he could see a gathering of fruit trees feebly fenced by human made barriers. Farther away, three horses stood idle in a modest stable. They seemed unbothered. Just to his right, sat a cottage. It was land well kept, no doubt the occupants made an adequate living off the land, but how strange to stumble upon a human farm so close to the wall and so far from the nearest town. All was quiet. Serene._

_**There's nothing here.** _ _Azriel thought,_ _**have I gone mad? Something called me here. But what?** _

_As if on cue, the door to the cottage burst open with a tremendous bang that echoed across the field. The sound of heavy wood slamming against stone shattering the stillness. Azriel slid back swiftly, keeping his body and wings well hidden behind the massive tree trunk. He shadows peered sharply around the tree, their senses far more in tune than his own in times like these. A figure in white, stumbled out, falling into the lush grass._

_**The girl.** _ _Azriel realized, her scent and presence instantly recognizable._ _**This must be where she lives. But...how could she call to me? And why?** _

_The usual mixture of relief and ease he felt at the sight of her was fleeting._ _**Something is wrong.** _ _His shadows repeated again and again as the weighted twinge of dread returned to his stomach. He smelt it, before he could pinpoint it. Fear. Rolling off her in waves. Fear...and blood. His Illyrian senses, heightened as they were, drew in the smell of it. He could practically taste the metallic tang on his tongue. On instinct, Azriel watched, his feet rooted to the ground as he tried to make sense of it. His eyes followed as she darted left. Another figure appeared from around the side of the house blocking her path. A human male. He looked several years older than she, but they had the same thick, curly hair and similar features. Seeing her, the male dropped what was in his hands and reached for her, catching her by the wrist._

" _Are you crazy?!" He hissed at her. She didn't seem to hear him, only pulled against his grasp, her feet digging into the ground as she tried to jerk her hand free. It was then that all the warmth and adrenaline was sapped from inside him, as the source of the stench was revealed to him. Her back was covered in blood. Lines of scarlet, angry and raw, littered her skin; some so deep they looked like claw marks._

" _I'm sorry, Bryn," The male said, his voice tinged with regret._

_**Bryn.** _ _His shadows whispered, understanding a second before he did. They swelled around him with elation, whispering as they did._ _**Bryn. Her name is Bryn.** He finally had her name. _

" _You vicious little bitch!"_

_Azriel pushed the shadows away, his eyes slamming back into focus. Another male had joined the fray, this one gangly, his voice as grating as nails on rock. Azriel searched for Bryn, finding her crumpled on the ground, her stomach caught under the males foot. Azriel understood now. His veins tightened, warmed to boiling with rage. These men, whoever they were, they had hurt her. He made to leap forward, one hand braced on the tree as shadows seeped from his palm gnawing at the bark like a frenzy of ravenous insects, when a much louder voice broke through the chaos._

" _Isaac! Stop." The voice boomed, it's rumbling, authoritative nature drawing the attention of both the boy, Isaac, and Azriel himself. It was enough for Azriel to give pause, to continue assessing the situation, as he was always wont to do._

 _ **Just how many of these...men are there?**_ _Azriel thought, watching the door. A much larger male stepped out into the gray light, one of the larger humans Azriel had seen._

" _Stop?" The lanky boy repeated, aghast. "She has to **pay.** You see what she did?!"_

_As the pair argued, the larger one reached for Bryn. Dragging her up by her hair, he spouted orders to the three others, before forcing her down to her knees. He hardly regarding her, as if she weren't a human at all. His hand went to her neck. "You move, you're dead." He spat. Bryn didn't seem to hear. Her eyes, one flooded with blood, were far away._

_It was the last word Azriel would hear. His head was full, their voices too far away. Whatever this was. He would end it. Now. The shadows around him, now black and entirely devoid of light, shuttered with anticipation. In a flash of black he disappeared...and reappeared in the midst of it._

_His shadows made quick work of the cane, gobbling it up until it was nothing but dust. Even so, for a sliver of a second, Azriel had felt it make contact with his palm. Even though it was wood, it was hot and damp with blood. Wrath like ice consumed him as a blast of energy shot from his siphons, easily hitting his mark. A breadth of satisfaction registered in the back of his mind, but it wasn't enough. A drop in an ocean. He wanted more. Craved it._

_The largest of the men was the only one with sense enough to react. Azriel watched, seething, as he pulled her to him; practically crushing her neck in his thick arm. The shadowsingers vision went red as he took it in. His hands on her. Hurting her. Without a shred of remorse. He could wait no longer, neither could his shadows. In a blaze of smoke and night, he bore down on the human, running his blade deep into a spot he knew would cause damage and pain. He felt the knife hit is target and sink through flesh and organs, tearing them asunder. The man crumpled, releasing Bryn and falling to the ground, writhing like a drowning rat._

Azriel forced himself to pull back, unable to bear watching it again. The rest of the memory came in pieces. Echoes of what after next hung between the three Illryian brothers. Cassian and Rhys both could feel in their bones the same rage, the same terror Azriel had felt as he flew back to Velaris with Bryn's broken body in his arms.

The Shadowsinger crouched, the weight of the memory enough to crush him. His wings flung themselves around him, shrouding him in darkness. He called silently for his shadows. They flocked around him, easing the trembling in his heart.

He didn't know how much time passed, how long it took to collect himself, but when he felt well enough he rose up and faced Rhysand again.

The High Lords face was low, shrouded by the dancing flames before them. There was a deep frown etched into his jaw, a familiar hardness in his usually light eyes. 

"Who are they?" Rhysand all but growled.

"...Her brothers," Azriel spat his answer like a curse, unable to contain the malice that still clung to his heart like a leech.

Cassian sucked in a low breath, his eyes meeting Rhysand over Azriel's shoulder. The High Lord looked down into the hearth. Even the flames seemed to shrink in the presence of his Shadowsingers wrath. All three of them still bore scars of what Illyrian customs had done to their mothers. They were the sort of wounds that didn't heal over time. They only grew deeper.

"Whatever time you need, Azriel," Rhysand said, "Whatever time _she_ needs. You've got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind reviews! For some reason I have this feeling that Azriel's home is very Mediterranean styled. In shape and minimalist ways...Until next time :0)


	12. Chapter 11

Deep within the western woods of Prythian's mortal realm, there sat a cottage. It seemed small, in comparison to the towering trees around it. Nestled next to what was once a gushing waterfall, it bore no signs of livability. The wood it was crafted of was rotted, having been eaten away by a strange and pungent moss that warded off any curious animals scavenging for food. The lantern that hung above the threshold had not been lit for many years. Any passersby would certainly have deemed it abandoned and likely empty of any worth. That is, if there had been any passersby. Few mortals dared to slip so far into this part of the forest. Nameless as it was. For although the wall itself had been broken down as a sign of goodwill in the wake of the great war that almost came to be, an invisible line still stretched through the trees, untouched and unbreakable. The demarcation was easy enough to see with mortal eyes. The trees belonging to the Spring Court were touched by fae magic. So they grew, tall and green. As trees should. But on the mortal side, where magic of any kind was still considered a rare and dangerous commodity, the forest had withered.

Centuries had passed since the land had seen prosperity. Far longer than any living human could hope to remember. The damage that had been wrought upon the land was too great. It bore scars in the form of cavernous trenches and caves that held mysteries yet to be uncovered. The trees that grew back were but a shadow of what once was. Most were gnarled and brittle. Their growth stunted by a lack of sun, as the very air was so thick with fog it blocked out the light on most days. Branches curved in on themselves, as if they were wounded or ill. Their leaves were fragile and thin, as black as ravens feathers with veins of white, sickly like ash. The water that flowed through ponds and streams was sallow. A thin mist permeated the landscape, obscuring the vision of any who dared enter. Few creatures could thrive in such a place. Only one, dared to call it home.

Like the forest, she had no name, but those who still believed in her existence would call her many things. Witch, siren, hag, conjurer. Hag was a favorite of hers, if only because she enjoyed hearing the word spat at her. Those who used it, usually despised her. Or feared her. Sometimes it was both; the two emotions melding into an even more dangerous concoction. She drank it in like fine wine, feeding off their fears not unlike the demons that haunted all the old tales. In reality, however, she considered herself none of those things. She was simply a vessel and had so mined the forest of it's magic, dark and dangerous as it was, to create a more satisfying life for herself. She was granted great power for her efforts and she used it as a bargaining tool. Many years ago, mortals would come from far and wide in hopes she would grant them powers of their own or, at the very least, use her magic to assist them with their problems. To her, it was a game. A way to pass the time and provide her with what she really wanted. Her cabin, as dilapidated as it was, was stocked to the brim with rare trinkets and treasures. Like the dragons of old, she sat upon her hoard, always cataloguing and caressing. She was alone, but satisfied in spite of the consequences that came with playing at magic. She could no longer leave the forest, let alone her little cottage. And her body was beginning to deteriorate at an alarming rate. Her only comfort was the knowledge that she had managed to live far longer than her mortal brethren. What awaited her on the other side, after all her experiments, she didn't know. She could only wait, trapped in a terror of her own making, until the day would come and her last breath would leave her.

It was then, on what was to be her final day, that a familiar silhouette graced her doorway. A young man. At least, he looked to be young. She had taught him, many years ago, how to tinker with time. Just as she had. Standing just under six feet, he was slight in form, bearing little muscle or shape. He relied on other means to assert himself in a world that would have rather seen him dead. The ivory of his tailored coat was but a shade darker than the pallor of his skin. Matching leather gloves adorned his hands. One of them clutched tightly to an intricately carved cane of polished bone. Strange, that someone so young would have need for such an accessory. Stranger still, was his hair; equally pallid, likely freshly fallen snow, though expertly coiffed into a mantle that would be considered stylish for the time. His eyes were icy blue, a stark contrast to his overall visage. They stood out against the severe angles of his nose and jaw, as sharp as steel blades. His was a carefully crafted image. To the mortals of the nearby towns and villages, he was downright odd. Some even mistook him for Fae from time to time.

He stepped into the cottage without so much as a greeting, surveying the darkness with an air of dull indifference, casually working the gloves from his hands before stuffing them in a pocket at his side. The door slid shut behind him with such force the building quaked.

"Mother," He called. The word rang out across the lightless room. His voice was loud and clear as a bell, but laced with unmistakable disdain.

With a shudder, several dozen empty lanterns dotted haphazardly across the floor sparked to life, the black wax candles inside bearing an unnatural acidic green light. Shadows began to dance languidly across the damp walls and floor. Stacks of books and papers covered most of the floor. Cages of all types and sizes hung from the ceiling; some of them bearing carcasses of rare animals, others were packed with overgrown plants. Boxes bearing gems and other items of finery were pressed against the walls, each protected by magical locks. They were stacked low and high, seemingly with no order. The young man bore them no mind.

Much like a snake poised to defend itself, the elderly woman drew in a shallow hiss of breath. Her body shook and trembled at the effort of it. Her lips, dry and cracked, peeled apart and she spoke. Her voice was as wet and as low as an toad's croak, yet it radiated around the room as though the sound of it eked from every crevice and crack that lined the walls and floor and ceiling.

"Mother? I am no mother, for I have bore no children into the world."

Unperturbed, the young man stepped forward, weaving his way between the piles. He kept his hands tucked deep into his pockets, showing extra care in each step so as not to make contact with anything other than the floor. This was not his first visit and he had learned long ago the consequences of disturbing anything from its place, regardless of how worthless it seemed upon first glance.

"You made me, did you not?" He said with a gleaming smile that came far too easily. "I would not be who I am without your...charity and guidance. Someone else may have pushed me into this world, but you...you gave me life."

His voice was like syrup. Dangerous in it's sweetness.

This was not lost on the hag. Though her body was a prisoner to time, her mind ran free and was all the sharper for it. Her eyes, yellow and glowing with a soft light, like forgotten embers, narrowed as she took in the site of him.

He frowned, momentarily disappointed. "Have you forgotten me already? It hasn't been so long…"

"Aldric." The hag croaked. "It _has_ been long. Twenty years. At least."

"Long perhaps, for a mortal." Aldric sniffed, slipping into the empty chair that sat before her table. "But we are not mortals, are we, my dear?"

The hag huffed a laugh, "never forget where you started boy, haven't I told you that before?"

Aldric rolled his eyes. He was done with pleasantries.

"You know why I'm here."

The hag guffawed, her hands coming loose from the folds of her shawl and drawing up towards the table. A series of runes were laid out before her, she shifted her attention to them, reading their placement with practiced casualty. "Do I?"

Aldric folded one leg over the other, his hands coming together in his lap. He ran his thumb over one of the rings around his opposite finger. It bore an obsidian gem. Even in the lowlight, he could catch sight of his own reflection on it's surface. His eyes narrowed.

"I'm afraid you're a poor teacher." He said, straining to keep his tone amiable.

"Oh?" The hag murmured, her eyes still trained on the table. She lifted one shaking hand and several of the runes slid to it like blind chicks to their mother's wing. She closed her hand around them, feeling the cool stone against her weathered skin.

"Yes, _**'Oh'**_." Aldric said, his eyes sparking with impatience. "That, or you're a liar."

The aging woman hissed before scattering the runes across the table. They didn't roll, but moved swiftly, with purpose as if they were living creatures enacting wills of their own.

"I am no liar, _boy_ ," she spat, an edge of annoyance grating around the room.

The runes came to a hasty halt, freezing into place. Unnaturally still. Silence permeated the room as thick as incense smoke.

"You told me," Aldric continued, unshrinking. "that curses were permanent."

The old woman's sparse brow perked up in interest. One of the runes shuddered and rolled over, taking a new position on the board she had etched into the table.

"What need would a _child_ like you have for curses?" She asked, more amused than surprised. Though she kept her eyes trained on the table, she still sensed him flinch at the use of the word. She almost smiled.

"I see no need to rifle through the details." He answered coolly, his eyes wandering slowly around the length of the room.

She grunted in agreement. Time was the most precious of commodities and hers was nearly up. Still, she found a small wick of pleasure in wasting some of his.

"Curses are fickle, complex things." She said, her voice bearing the fragility of her age even more so than her wizened face. Her yellow eyes slunk lazily to him for a second, taking him in. "Not playthings for amateurs."

Aldric's eyes sharpened, heat roiling in the icy blue pools, but he knew better than to protest.

"Well, give me your hand." She ordered.

With a labored sigh, he leaned forward. His left hand hit the table hard in the center, palm facing the ceiling. Pushing aside the now idle runes, the witch slipped her hand under his. To any normal mortal, the touch would have felt ice cold, but Aldric was no normal mortal. Not anymore. As the hag's eyes slid shut, Aldric's finally focused on her face. He watched her carefully.

A humming from the base of the hags throat grew louder and louder until an ice blue light burst to life between them. It hovered a foot above their conjoined hands for several seconds before fizzling, the remnants of it falling over their hands in specks. Aldric shifted uncomfortably as he felt the unmistakable presence of her inner eye descend upon his skin like drops of wax, hot and liquid but entirely invisible. She placed her free hand over his. Her fingers drew together as if they were trying to pluck at a stray hair stuck to his palm. She drew them up with a shaky breath. Black ink sprouted from the lines of his palm, as if summoned from inside of him. It pooled in his hand until there was so much of it that it flowed over to the table, trickling down the sides of his hand like streams of blood. Aldric, no stranger to this ritual, turned his hand over and dragged it across the table, leaving behind a trail of symbols that would read as utter nonsense to an untrained eye. The hag leaned forward, her nose nearly touching the table, to read the inky signs.

"Hmmm, the bindings are strong." She said finally, not bothering to contain her surprise.

Aldric smiled, pleased by the praise but still miffed enough to shoot another needle her way. "It was you that taught me. Did you expect shoddy work?"

She ignored the half-hearted jab. Her eyes were fixated the table. This configuration was new to her. With a wave of her hand, the ink stain vanished. She picked up the runes once more and tossed them across the table. Her thin brows furrowed as she watched them fall into place.

"Something else gnaws at the chains." She concluded. "Weakening them."

Aldric's lip turned up in a stony grimace. "What?"

"I don't know."

"You _don't know_?" Aldric repeated, the words bathed in disdain. "How is that possible?"

"Magic is malleable," The hag said with a maddening shrug. "No one, no matter how long they study, can truly understand it."

Aldric rose swiftly to his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching in useless fists. The room seemed to darken. Loose papers and empty cages shuddered as a dark wind passed through the length of the hut. The hag's chin turned up, her eyes focusing on Aldric's face for the first time since he had entered her home.

"If you can't help me," he said, lowering his hand. "Then you're of no use to me."

His voice was low and ireful, but the hag paid it no mind. She had witnessed his tantrums on many an occasion.

"I still requirement payment." She responded expectantly.

Aldric muttered something under his breath. With little hesitation, he slid the obsidian ring from his finger and tossed it to the table. The hag's hand shot out from her shawl and scooped it up.

With a knowing laugh she said, "if you feel so strongly, my boy-"

The rest of the words died in her throat which was overcome by an intense gurgle as her airwaves were suddenly flooded with what felt like boiling liquid. She wretched, her hand opening instinctively to drop the ring, but it was adhered to her skin. Confused, she looked closely at it. The black gem had turned tar-like, bubbling and spitting as it sunk deeper into her palm.

"What-?" She tried to speak but the heat began to eat away at her veins. The pain quickly becoming was overwhelming. She looked up at her once loyal apprentice, her yellow eyes raging.

Aldric only grinned before calmly lowering himself back into his chair and crossing his legs once more.

"Sorry, dear." He said, slipping his gloves back onto his hands. "But I always knew it would come to this...one day."

The hag sputtered as black bile rose in her throat, spilling out of her lips and down her chin.

"That's called the 'peasants tear'," Aldric explained. "A nasty little gem. I was told the pain is...unimaginable."

The hag could do nothing but writhe like an insect possessed by a fungal parasite. Aldric leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table and resting his chin in one hand.

"Lucky for you it works quickly." He continued, genially. "If only you hadn't been so greedy, dear. Shown just a _little_ restraint."

Even in the throes of a harrowing death he could see her attempting to speak. Her hands moved in circles and he recognized the beginnings of spellwork.

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid." He cooed, his eyes glistening with sickly pleasure.

His smile only grew as he watched her final breath tear violently through her. The hag's body went still, all life drained out of her in a matter of seconds.

All the light in the room, powered by her magic, snuffed out. Aldric sat in the silence for a moment, drinking it in. Never again would have to answer to Mistress who taught him. Hear her toad-like warbling, feel her hideously weathered grasp. It was...freeing. 

"Now then," Aldric said aloud. He rounded the table and pushed the unmoving corpse aside. With a snap of two gloved fingers, the lights were born anew, this time ghostly white. The haunting figure crashed loudly to the floor, shaking the very foundation of the cottage but he took no notice.

With a calming breath, his eyes fell shut and he placed his hands on either side of the table.

"Show me." He commanded. The runes twitched to life at the sound of his voice. Like a troupe of dutiful soldiers they formed into a line, ready to act on his word, their old commander already forgotten. 

**" _Where is she?"_**

The runes shuddered before flying in chaotic circles across the board searching for the answer their new master craved. Aldric's eyes watched them fall into place.

 _"_ Well, this is unexpected," He said aloud, his emotions mixed as he took in the answer that presented itself through the ruins. He dropped into the hag's now vacant chair, hitching one foot up on the table, he pushed back and aimed his gaze at the ceiling as he began to weigh his options. "Could it be distance alone fraying the threads?" 

The empty, rotting cabin had no answer for him. 

"No matter. A few wayward fae will be easy enough to dispatch. I'll have you home soon..." He drawled, looking down at his arm. With his left hand he pulled back his right sleeve, revealing a black ink tattoo that ran up from his wrist and extended the length of his forearm. It was minimalistic in design, but no less effective. A heady smile slithered across his face as he caressed the ink with his thumb, his white teeth gleaming in the lowlight. 

"...my darling girl."

* * *

"Well, for starters, she's the cutest." Mor said, amber eyes pointed towards the blue sky above.

Feyre fell into step next to her, her golden hair braided only somewhat neatly into a crown around her head, a curious look dancing in her eyes.

It was a particularly warm day for Velaris. The smell of salt and sand spun thick through the winds that carried in from the sea. The sun shone bright at the very highest point of the sky. Summer seemed only a breath away.

"Oh?" Feyre pressed, anxious for Mor to continue.

"I mean, she's just so petite." Mor said, looping her arm through her High Lady's and leading her on down the cobbled street towards the Sidra. "She only comes up to about...here."

She held her free hand up just below her shoulder to show what she meant.

"Like Amren?" Feyre asked. She had been trying to piece together a better idea of what the girl looked like, having only seen her for a breadth of a second. 

"Not at all like Amren." Mor huffed. "Amren may be little but she certainly doesn't act like it."

Feyre laughed. "That's for sure."

"And she's very quiet, well...I mean, I think she would be even without her...circumstance? That can't be right, I don't know what to call it."

Feyre watched Mor with an amused eye, before noting aloud "you're so excited."

"Of course I'm excited! Azriel is my friend... _our_ friend. And unlike me or Cassian or you now that you've got that studio of yours...he doesn't have a lot of other friends outside the circle or his ring of spies. And don't even know if they really qualify as friends, he trusts them explicitly but I doubt they would ever spend time together outside of their work. But now I finally got to meet one! And now you do, too."

Feyre laughed and nodded. It didn't make a whole lot of sense but she had to admit there was something exciting about it. She had begrudgingly heeded Rhysand's request to wait until Azriel was ready to introduce her.

 _I can't say it was easy though_. Feyre thought. _It's been distracting me day and night._

Not that it mattered, now that the day had come. In the near week that had come to pass since spotting them on the bridge, Feyre had come up with dozens of questions she desperately craved answers too. She knew, however, that some would have to wait.

_But some of them...I might be able to get answers to now._

"I know Rhys talked with Az, but he won't tell me anything." She said, casting as vague a net as she could manage. 

Mor snorted. "Typical."

Feyre couldn't help but agree. "I understand it, though."

"Oh so do I." Mor nodded. "But it's still typical."

Feyre laughed. "It is, isn't it?"

As they talked, they passed by several of their favorite shops and cafes. The streets were bustling thanks to the perfect weather and they took time to note which cafes seemed less crowded than others, playfully arguing over which spot would be best for lunch. As they neared the Sidra, Feyre poised the most pertinent of her questions.

"Is she really human?"

Mor nodded.

"Then, how did they meet?" Feyre asked, a bevy of questions tumbling from her mouth before she could stop herself. "Does he know what village she's from? If it's mine I may know her. Or Elain might. Not her, I guess but maybe her family-"

A faint shadow breezed across Mor's face so quickly that most wouldn't have had the time to make note of it, but Feyre was more observant than most.

"Mor?"

Mor's ever-present smile was still in place, but Feyre could see a familiar sadness thinly veiled behind her eyes.

"Azriel didn't tell me much, but he said he met her not long after I told him...well, you know."

"Oh."

"He went all the way to the mortal lands, Feyre," Mor sighed, her shoulders dropping. "Just to get away."

"Mor," Feyre chastised. "You can't blame yourself for any of that."

"But I-"

"He just needed some space." Feyre said. "We all need that some time."

"I've just…" Mor sighed, trying to find the right words. "I've been so worried about him for these last few months. I know I'm not the only one. It does hurt knowing that I wronged him but at least I know he wasn't grieving or going of and doing something reckless. That sounds...selfish, I know."

Feyre shook her head. "I don't think it's selfish...and I don't think you _wronged_ him, either."

"But now I know," Mor pressed on, her smile returning. "And I feel relieved. All this time, he was just...visiting a friend."

They walked along in silence for several seconds. As they rounded the last block and had the shoreline in their sights, Feyre ventured to ask one last question before it was too late.

"So...she's 'just' a friend?"

Mor laughed. She knew all too well Feyre had been dying to pose that very question since she posed the offer of lunch.

"I only ask because…" Feyre spoke again, "Well, you weren't there, but when we saw them by the Sidra-"

"I think I know what you mean." Mor said. She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

Feyre could hardly bear the prolonged silence. When Mor had arrived at her door that morning and asked if she would like to meet this mysterious human, Feyre had practically left the house with her pajamas on. She had dressed quickly, not waiting for Nuala or Cerridwen, and practically leapt out the door with hardly a word of goodbye to a stunned but understanding Rhys.

"You know…" Mor said finally. "The way he looks at her, when she's not looking...I couldn't help but wonder if that was how he looked at me, all those times I turned away. I could feel it but it was too difficult to face it." 

Mor looked to Feyre and couldn't help but giggle; her High Lady's eyes were as big as saucers.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Feyre pondered. "Shadowsinger of the Night Court. Infamous for knowing what others cannot and yet-"

"He can be so damned oblivious." Mor finished.

"Exactly." Feyre said. "Especially when it comes to himself."

Mor shot a sly side-eyed glance in Feyre's direction. "Reminds me of other people I know."

Feyre blinked. "Who?"

"You!" Mor said, jabbing Feyre's side with her elbow. "You and that stupid cousin of mine."

"What? How so?"

"Oh I don't know, something about two people totally oblivious to how head over heels in love with each other they were." Mor said, furtively.

"Oh please," Feyre countered, waving her hand in dismissal. "We weren't all that oblivious!"

Mor scoffed, feigning a look around. "Where's Cassian when I need him? Or Amren? Or any of your sisters or-"

"Alright, alright," Feyre blushed, pushing Mor away. "Point made."

"Point _not_ made," Mor said, with a teasing wink. "Best believe I will be bringing this up again when I have plenty of witnesses to back me up."

Feyre rolled her eyes. They reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the bridge. For a while they watched the waves as they walked. Sunlight dotted the water like many glittering jewels. Feyre turned her eyes back to the city, she could see the roof of the townhouse several lanes behind them now and was reminded of her first time in the city. How even then, Rhys had known that she was his mate.

"Mor...do you think they're really like that?" Feyre asked. "Like me and Rhys?"

Mor shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe...maybe I just want them to be? Azriel deserves to be happy. He spent so much of his life hoping that I...I just, I don't want him to be alone."

"Azriel's not alone." Feyre implored. "He has us. He has you. Maybe not in the way he imagined but...he treasures his friendships just as much as any-"

"I know." Mor interjected. "I mean, I think I know."

Mor stopped, leaning against the stone wall and letting the winds from the sea wash over her face.

"I guess you'll be able to tell." She said, looking over her shoulder at Feyre. "Once you see them together."

Feyre joined her friend, looking down to the shore below. "Do you see them?"

Mor's eyes combed the shoreline.

"There," She said, pointing. "By the trees."

* * *

The beach at the southern end of the bridge was small and far too rocky for anyone hoping to relax on comfortable sandy shores, but Bryn was insistent on getting a closer look at the waves.

 _I've never been so close to an ocean before._ She thought, closing her eyes. The water was cool against her skin, almost bitingly so, but she didn't mind it. As it sloshed gently around her bare ankles she was reminded of her favorite stream in the mountains. The water here was similar in feeling but there was something different about the salty air. It was intoxicating. She breathed it in as if it were a fine perfume. The winds flew past her, knocking her hair about. She had refrained from tying it back today and enjoyed the feeling of her curls flying free. The gentle lull of the waves soothed her nerves. _How strange_ , she thought, smiling in spite of herself. In all her lifetime, she had found very few things were comforting in their newness.

She opened her eyes again, looking down to her feet as another wave slid past her and up the shore. The ground below her was nothing but piles of rocks. They came in all colors, some were gray and others black. A few were even rust-like in color, bearing glints of gold dust. Smaller rocks caught up in the wave landed over her feet, they felt smooth and were colder even than the water, tickling at her skin. She reached down and pulled up a larger stone, running her thumb along its surface before pulling her arm back and chucking as far as she could. She craned her neck back as she watched the stone fly through the air.

 _Everyday I feel stronger._ She thought, a glimmer of pride radiating through her. _Who knew that rest could be so...invigorating._

She grinned as the rock landed several feet away with a satisfying plunk in a much deeper part of the water.

_Even the rocks are different here. Not like the ones in the lake at all._

Her smile morphed into a frown. It worried her, how often she had thought of her home these past few days.

_No, not my home. But the clearing._

Things had been simpler then. When it was just her and Azriel. Alone and unbothered. Now there were more friends to meet and she was reminded again that he had a life away from the clearing. One that was worth living. Unlike hers, where she was just relieved to have survived another day on her own terms. It was a cycle of thought that continued to plague her since meeting Mor. Even though she liked her very much and had enjoyed her time with her. Bryn couldn't help but remind herself that Azriel had other friends in his life. Long before he met her.

_While I have none._

She worried that one day he would grow tired of her company. Those familiar black voices huddled dangerously close to the forefront of her mind. _**How could he not-?**_

 _Don't think about that now._ She told herself, shaking her head and plunging her hand back in the water. _Just enjoy what time you have._

She aimed her gaze at the sky. No matter where she was, no matter what she had suffered through, she always found comfort in the sky. Today, large cumulus clouds drifted slowly by. They were so brilliantly white, she had to squint to look at them properly.

_It really is beautiful here, like something out of a dream._

Her gaze tipped down again, peering over her shoulder to look at Azriel. He had refrained from dipping his feet into the water and instead settled down onto a blanket he brought along. She had felt his eyes on her while she waded through the water at the start, gathering up the folds of her dress so as not to get them wet, but after a while the feeling of being watched had gone away. Now she knew why. He had placed the blanket under the shade of a large tree and was now leaning against it. His arms were crossed back behind his head and his eyes were shut, one of his knees was bent up but the other was splayed out. He was as still as a statue.

 _Is he asleep?_ She wondered.

A devilish smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Gathering up the fabric of her dress once more, she slid as silently as she could manage back to the shore, moving carefully to avoid slipping on the smooth, wet rocks underfoot.

She half-expected him to open his eyes when she got close. It was impossible to sneak up on him.

_At least, I thought it was._

Oddly enough, he didn't budge. Not even when she lost her footing on the last step and almost fell on top of him. She lowered herself down beside him slowly, her eyes fixed to his face, in case he did decide to wake suddenly.

 _Curiosity is getting the better of me._ Bryn thought, even though she knew she couldn't deny the urge. It didn't feel right. Just to stare. Especially around Azriel. Mor didn't seem to mind the attention, neither did many of the citizens of Velaris. But Azriel was always watching, always acutely aware of his surroundings. It was impossible then, to watch the watcher. And he was the one Bryn wanted to watch the most.

_This is my chance._

She shifted closer, her eyes going first to his wings. She had found them quite intimidating upon first sight, but she was surprised to find she had grown used to them quickly.

 _Somehow_. Bryn thought, her smile growing without her even realizing. _Giant bat wings are...familiar now._

A breath of laughter left her. She stiffened immediately, her eyes slamming shut. She had seen Azriel's attentions roused by less noise than that. She was convinced after watching his eyes dart in the direction of a fallen leaf in the mountains that he could likely hear things she could not. She sat frozen for several seconds before daring to open her eyes again. Instead of amber eyes, she was met with a tuft of shadow. It floated up from behind his shoulder, it's folds swirling with deep purples and navys. Bryn swallowed hard. In truth, it was the shadows that truly frightened her. Wings were just sinew and muscle and bone after all. All things her body was made up of as well. The shadows, however, were another matter entirely. She was certain Azriel knew of her aversion, whenever he was close he tried to stifle their aura. But now that he was asleep, they seemed to have a mind of their own.

 _Is that even possible?_ She thought, her inquisitiveness winning out over her qualms.

Tentatively, she lifted her hand, holding it level to the wisp of shadow. It split into several thinner tendrils, winding through and around her outstretched fingers like wandering vines searching for sunlight. Bryn inhaled sharply but kept her hand in place. The shadows felt cool against her skin, like morning mist. She turned her hand around, drawing it closer, her palm now facing her. The threads of shadow moved in spiraling circles down her wrist but never constricted. Their touch was deft and ghostly. It sent gentle chills up her spine.

 _Are you really a part of him?_ She wanted to say. _Or something else. Just a friend? Maybe a curse?_

Upon closer inspection they seemed far too beautiful to be anything as odious as a curse. As another cloud passed over the sun, rays of light shone through the shadows and glittering light bounced off of them, reminding Bryn of a starry sky unburdened by the lights of the planet. The shadows thrummed and for one breathless moment, Bryn was foolish enough to believe that they heard her. Somehow.

 _That can't be,_ She thought, shaking her head.

Suddenly, the shadows drew back and Bryn looked up to see Azriel had finally woken. She shrank back, flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, pushing off the tree and lifting a hand to his shoulder where the shadow had been. "I didn't mean to-"

Bryn shook her head emphatically. She lifted her hand in a circle, while nodding. One of the signs they had worked out together.

_It's okay._

He nodded in understanding, but Bryn could see the doubt in his eyes. He ducked his head and she realized he was ashamed.

"I like to think I have control over them." He said finally. "Sometimes I do. Sometimes…"

The word trailed off for a moment. Another cloud passed by overhead.

"Sometimes they have a mind of their own." He finished, finally.

Bryn knelt beside him and placed her hand over his.

 _I'm not afraid._ She thought. _The dark, the night...shadows. They are nothing to be afraid of. They can be beautiful. Like...like you. The dark that's inside of people. That's what I'm afraid of._

The gears in her head struggled to find a way to convey it to him. She could feel a familiar frustration building in her chest. The static and heat of it was becoming unbearable. It had been a long time since she had actually wanted to talk, for almost two years she had convinced herself she didn't need to. But now that Azriel was around, she wanted it desperately and, as if the curse somehow knew, any attempt she made was met with a groaning, angry pain in her throat. Like a cold flame had been lit within her, reminding her of her affliction. 

With a heavy sigh, Bryn lifted her hand again. Azriel's eyes locked onto hers as he waited patiently. To her surprise, and Azriel's seemingly, the wisp of shadow followed her hand. Bryn smiled, looking down at it. She turned her palm to the sky and the shadow slunk forward. Azriel straightened, but Bryn shook her head.

 _It's okay._ She signed again.

She lifted her free hand to join the other and the shadow pooled in her hands. It felt like a cloud, light and airy. Bryn's face lit up and she smiled at Azriel.

 _It's wonderful,_ She mouthed.

"Wonderful?" Azriel repeated, incredulous.

Bryn nodded. She lifted one hand, her finger tapping at her temple before gesturing to him. 

_Don't you think so?_

Azriel's shoulders sagged. "I...never thought of them that way."

Bryn nodded again to press her point. She reached out grabbing one of his hands and pulling it towards hers. The shadow swelled, then moved around both of their hands.

 _You should._ Bryn mouthed. She lifted a hand to her eyes and shook her head. _I've never seen anything like them._

Azriel exhaled, running his free hand through his hair. Bryn shook her hand and the shadow slid away again.

She placed both her hands in front of her face, ducking behind them and them popping out again, shaking her head.

 _Don't hide them._ She thought. She pointed to her chest and shook her head again. _Not from me._

Azriel watched her in silence this time, a helpless look plastered across his face.

Bryn smiled again, trying to put him at ease.

_Alright?_

After a moment, Azriel nodded even though he wasn't quite sure he understood. "Alright." 

"Hello!" A voice called from the steps.

Azriel and Bryn both turned to see Mor waving to them.

"Sorry we're late!" She shouted with a smile.

Bryn turned to see Azriel grin, breathing a laugh. The shadows around them vanished in an instant.

"That's alright." He said, standing. He offered Bryn his hand, but his eyes were still trained on Mor.

Bryn could feel the nerves pools in her stomach again. The seemed as far away as the clouds now, the sound of them drowned out by the beating of her heart. She swallowed and took Azriel's hand. He pulled her up with his usual careful ease.

"You ready?" Azriel asked.

Bryn nodded, even though she was doubtful. Tea with Mor had been a relatively easy endeavor, but a lunch with three others, even with Azriel included, seemed daunting.

 _Don't be silly._ Bryn told herself. _It's just lunch. And it will make Azriel happy._

"Bryn! Hello!" Mor said, descending on them. "How are you?"

Bryn cocked her head to one side and shrugged her shoulder, a move she had seen Azriel do on occasion.

"It's a beautiful day isn't it?"

Bryn nodded.

Mor took Bryn's hand and pulled her forward. "Bryn, we'd like you to meet Feyre. High Lady of the Night Court."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Another cliffhanger, but I feel like I should devote more time into Feyre's "official" introduction. I like playing with the idea of Azriel's shadows. I know when he was crushing on Mor they would ebb and go away when she was near...but I like the thought that they're apart of him and Bryn actually brings them out in a good way. ;0) I definitely want to explore how his crush phase with Mor is different than his crush phase with Bryn (even though neither of them really get it yet, ah, it's fun to play with clueless sweethearts).


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I had such a hard time with this chapter! Like cutting stone with a plastic knife. But I was determined to get it out before the next book. Honestly, I'm so nervous about the next book (Sarah's) because if there is even a hint of Azriel and any other character being romantic (you know who I mean) it will just break my little OC-writing heart. I'm sorry Sarah, he's taken!
> 
> Thank you so much for hanging in there with me! The last few weeks (ugh months) have been...pretty bad. I had to go to the ER (not covid related, that comes later haha...ha) and then I was in recovery. Then my brother was diagnosed with Covid, so I have been taking care of my niece almost 24/7. And that's TMI! But...there it is. He's okay now.
> 
> Until next time...

* * *

Chapter 12

Sunlight poured down from a serene sky, bathing their luncheon with soft, warm light. Cool breezes still wafted up and down the alleyway, causing Bryn to lift guarded fingers to her hair and push curls out of her face, then back again. And again and again. Their table was full of small square plates, each bearing an intricately decorated border that resembled lace. The plates all bore different foods, each of them bite-sized and peppered with flavor. There were five servings per plate, to accommodate their party. Bryn peered towards Azriel again, hoping her eye was well hidden under a sheet of stray curls. He sat at the head of the table, to her left. Mor sat to her right. Feyre, The High Lady, sat across from her. And, next to Feyre, sat a new guest. Elain, Feyre's sister.

 _Another beauty._ Bryn thought, picking up a blackberry from her plate and popping it into her mouth. She was shorter than Feyre, but she had the same warm skin and eyes. She wore a dress of pale pink and ribbons held her hair into a thick braid that wound around her head. _I know they are high fae, but I can't imagine they were any less beautiful as humans._

What Azriel had told her of their story was, he suggested, only the tip of a monstrous iceberg, but Bryn appreciated the knowledge. She wondered, with a familiar ache in the pit of her chest, what he had told them about her. He had assured her once, that her story was her own and he had no intention of telling it without her consent. She appreciated that, for she was not yet ready to tell them anything. She had sensed of course, the change in Azriel after he had learned about her home life. She was not keen on experiencing it again. But surely he had to tell his High Lady (and Lord and bevvy of friends) something about what brought her to Velaris. An explanation of why she was here, living in his home well past the turn of the season, sleeping in _his_ bed.

Bryn flushed, swallowing the berry down in one uncomfortable gulp. _It's not like that, though._ She told herself, cursing the path her mind had wandered down. _They must know that at least._

She watched them talk, the conversation never lagging. Mor and Feyre always steering it in this way or that. Azriel spoke little, mostly to Bryn, providing context as the women breezed through story after story with a strange but nonetheless inviting casualness. Feyre laughed at something Mor had said. Snorted actually. She seemed very comfortable with the company around the table.

 _For a High Lady,_ Bryn thought, reaching once more for her fork. _She doesn't act very queenly. If that's what a High Lady is._ She corrected herself. Azriel had been a little vague with the details. _Whatever he meant, I certainly didn't expect this._

Azriel spoke of his High Lord and Lady with reverence. He said it was an honor to serve them and the people of Velaris. But Feyre treated him as a friend, not as a loyal soldier. And there was nothing formal about their introduction. A smile here, and handshake there. A hearty "Welcome to Velaris" and "Azriel's told us practically nothing about you."

It was times like these, rare as they were, that Bryn was actually glad she couldn't speak. She could practically sense the curiosity radiating off of Feyre and Mor. The questions they were dying to ask, glistening like stars behind their eyes.

 _What would I even say?_ She thought, her heart skipping warily at the very idea of having to contribute to the constant flow of conversation. It was maddening, the realization of how ill equipped she came to situations like this. In all her life she had never been presented with the chance to make a female friend. And now that she had spent time with Cerridwen and Nuala and Mor, she was beginning to understand how different they were from Azriel. _And other men..._

 _But these are his friends_ , Bryn told herself. _He wants them to like me. And for me to like them. So, trying is the least I can do. After all he's done for me._

* * *

The day unfolded like any other day she had spent exploring Velaris. She often sat on the farm, whenever she could scrounge a moment alone, dreaming about things like this. Going into town. Talking with people who knew her and liked her. Wandering the market and shopping. Not out of necessity but for the fun of it. When Mor had taken her out, they had breezed quickly through the Palace of Thread and Jewels while Mor pointed out some of her favorite shops. After lunch, they found themselves there again.

Mor winked at her.

"I could tell you wanted to explore some of the shops," she said with what was soon becoming a familiar gleam in her eyes as she addressed Bryn. Mor turned to the other women and announced, "She's a woman after our own hearts."

Bryn went red in the cheeks, not realizing she had been perhaps too transparent during their first tour around the city. It was true yes, though it wasn't the "Jewels" in the Palace of Thread and Jewels that interested her so. Bryn waved her hand, her index finger raised, making the gesture for when she had a question. Even though their time together had been short, Mor had at least learned that one. She giggled, linking one of her arms through Feyre's and held the free one out to Bryn. Casting a hesitant eye towards Azriel, Bryn offered up her own arm, trying to fight against the awkwardness that still settled uneasily in the back of her mind. She saw Azriel nod encouragingly before she was whisked into one of the shops.

"Have you ever gone window shopping?" Elain asked pleasantly. coming up on her other side.

Bryn shook her head.

"It's fun," Elain explained. "We don't buy anything, just browse and try things on."

Bryn felt a wave of relief flow through her. _That's good._ She thought, eyes searching again for Azriel. _I wouldn't want him buying me anything more._ He was following behind, hands stuffed into his pockets as shadows swirled languidly around his shoulders.

It wasn't long, however, before Azriel was out of her mind. As Mor whisked her around the shop, Bryn felt herself go breathless in wonder. Lines of gowns were hung across the walls. Beautiful, delicate things each bearing intricately sewn jewels and overlays. There were grand jewel tones and soft pastels, deep dark plumes of feathers and thin wisps of lace.

 _They're beautiful._ Bryn thought, mesmerized as she fingered the various fabrics. _Like something out of a dream._

"Oh look at this one," Mor said, pulling a sumptuous scarlet frock from the bunch and holding it up.

"You have to try it on." Feyre said with a clap of her hands. "And Elain! Did you see the fuchsia one."

"Oh no," said Elain, going pink in the face. "It's so bright!"

"Nonsense." Feyre said, pulling it free and shoving it into her sisters hands. "Here."

Bryn smiled in spite of it all. She caught Mor's eye and the blonde motioned her closer.

"Come with me," Mor said, looping the red dress over her arm.

She led Bryn to the back of the store and after smiling towards the shopkeep, pulled her into another room. This one was cramped, but circular. And the center was a low ottoman of purple velvet. It was surrounded by walls of curtains.

"Here," Mor said, pulling one of the curtains back. "This will be yours. I'll go next to you here and Feyre can go on the other side-"

Bryn shook her head, but Mor fussed her inside with an easy swoop of her arm and slid the curtain shut. A second later, the hand passed through the curtain again. This time, holding out a dress.

"Feyre picked it out." Came Mor's voice from the other side of the curtain. "She liked the color."

Bryn, somewhat dumbfounded, took it.

 _But I can't-?!_ It was impossible to communicate without looking Mor in the eyes.

"It's just for fun!" Mor said cheerily, parroting what Elain had told her earlier.

 _Just for fun._ Bryn exhaled. It was as if Mor had read her mind. _That's right, like...a game I suppose._

"Come out and show us when you're done!" Mor said, after a beat. And she was gone.

Bryn clutched the dress in her hands, unsure of what to do. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she wasn't sure why.

_Am I excited? Nervous? Or...having fun? Maybe..._

It felt wrong to indulge. What was the purpose of trying on clothes if you weren't going to buy them? It seemed silly. She shifted the dress and held it up and away.

 _It's..._ She almost gasped.

Crafted entirely of draped tulle, it was heavy in her hands. The skirt was full and long, the bodice was laced with thin patches of silver leaf. The sleeves were short and seemed oddly shaped, as if they couldn't sit properly on her shoulders. Her curiosity peaked, she went against her better judgment and numbly slipped out of her dress and shawl. Shaking like a leaf, she stepped into the dress and pulled it up her waist before slipping her arms in the sleeves, her heart hammering loudly in the back of her head. Just as she thought, the sleeves didn't fit her shoulders, but rather draped down. The tulle was thin at the top, but wrapped around her arms, just below her shoulders. More tulle was layered underneath, making the sleeves even longer. With shallow breaths, she felt around the back, looping the buttons until she reached the top. It was a tad large and far too tall, she could feel the skirt's hem sit oddly on the floor as fabric pooled stiffly looking for more room. She rose up on her toes to accommodate it.

Biting down on her lip, she dared to look up into the reflection in the mirror that was propped up against the back wall of the small dressing room.

 _It's beautiful._ She thought. _I don't...I don't even look like me._

She placed her hands on her hips, swiveling from side to side and watching the skirt twirls gently along with her hips.

 _The detail is so..._ She lacked the words to describe all of the small touches. A thin ribbon of dark velvet had been sewn across the bodice in an 'x' that trailer from either shoulder, crossed in the middle and wound around her back. She turned and looked over her shoulder, pulling her hair up and around to her front to get a better look at it. It was tied off at the small of her back, the tails of the bow trailing all the way down to the floor. As reached around and fingered the ribbon, her eyes trailing up again. Her heart fell. Though the tulle was deeply layered in the skirt, it was far thinner at the top. What was hidden by a similarly covered bodice in the front, was almost completely translucent in the back. Her shoulders were all but bare, her back on display. Her back...and the layers of scarring she had almost forgotten about.

Numbly, her mind blank, she reached one hand behind and let the pads of her fingers drift over the scars. Her stomach went sour as she traced them, the feeling was hauntingly familiar.

 _They're so-_ She thought, angering herself as old shadows began to weave their way back into her mind. _So ugly._

They covered her skin like a second web of veins, some thin in shape, others puckered. And all of them a hideous shade of fleshy pink. She hated them. Hated how they looked and what they stood for. Even though Madja had managed to make the newer ones disappear, the old ones were permanent it seemed. A map of shame and fury seared into her skin.

Her eyes shifted from the reflection of the scars on her back to her face. Her fingers moved from her back towards the front through the folds of the fabric, it was light as clouds. The color was bold, a far stretch from anything her brothers brought home from the village. Bryn was reminded suddenly of the time she spent sewing and trimming the same tunics and shirts in their same bland colors, the fibers rough and scratchy against even her calloused fingers. She could remember looking up at the sky, clouds bathed in the colors of a beautiful sunset. The pinks and blues and gentle lilacs; so unlike anything found on earth and wondered if such colors could be manifested into fabrics. It turns out, they could be.

She looked down to the dress again. It was a truly beautiful color: indigo, perilously deep in pigment yet somehow strangely beautiful in it's darkness.

_Like Azriel's shadows…_

The thought took her entirely by surprise, but she couldn't deny the truth of it. Her scars decidedly forgotten, she turned again, admiring the contrast of the fabric against her pale skin. She imagined it wasn't the dress that cloaked her body, but Azriel's shadows. Or maybe it was Azriel himself. She closed her eyes, her lips parting to release a slow, calming breath as imagination claimed her and her surroundings fell away. His voice, a delicate but assured whisper, telling her she was safe. There were just his hands, on her back, her waist. Gentle yet terribly warm. Holding her close.

The thought took her breath away. She could remember a time, not long ago, that the thought of a man even coming within arms length of her made her sick to her stomach. She was certain that she would never want for the touch of one for the rest of her days.

 _But he's not a man._ Bryn thought. _He's fae...I think._

She smiled.

 _No, he's just Azriel._ Bryn told herself. The wings, the syphons, the magic and the shadows. They did not make Azriel who he was...kind.

 _And quiet,_ Bryn thought, her hands moving lower, capturing handfuls of skirt so she could lift them as she swayed from side to side; her heart as light and as giddy as a sparrow in flight. _Quiet in the best of ways. Sweet...and handsome._

She flushed, her stomach swirling as she pictured him in the mountain meadow. His small smile like a light; a glowing moon, in a star-laden sky.

A rustle of fabric, quiet as a whisper, followed by a breath of a word pulled her suddenly from her reverie.

"Oh!"

Bryn spun around, the folds of fabric slipping silently from her grasp. From behind the curtain peered Mor, another dress slung over one arm. Clearly it was meant for Bryn.

"I'm so sorry." She said, her head of blonde ducking out of sight before Bryn could even breathe.

Bryn faltered, her hand going to her neck, then around to her back as she met her own gaze in the mirror once more.

As her fingers felt along the highest of her vertebrae where she knew the groove of an old scar lay, she couldn't help but think: **_had Mor seen?_**

Her other hand wove into her hair draped over left shoulder. With no other outlet available to her, she pulled on her hair tangling her fingers into it and forcing it back behind her head where it should have been all along. Shame and confusion swirled in her head making her dizzy. Her ears rang with the echo of Mor's absence, that sound made in acknowledgement, the hushed intake of breath. It felt as if she were both still present in the room and far away. The disparity was jarring.

 _Of course she saw._ _How could she not?_ A bitter voice answered in the back of her mind. Her well-dark eyes fixated on her own reflection in the mirror, as if in answer to the voice. They drifted downwards, taking in the dress once more. The beauty she had admired only seconds ago seemed foolish to her now. Her brows knotted together as she regarded the gown with newfound (yet somehow obvious) disdain, her eyes focused on the nakedness of her shoulders. She dipped her right shoulder down, allowing her a better look at the sunken lines that stretched and pulled at her skin. What little anger she felt for Mor's accidental glance was eclipsed entirely by the broiling hatred in her heart that had always been reserved for herself.

 _Stupid,_ She thought, running her fingers along the scars that lay just below the curve of her shoulder. She shivered as her fingers traveled across them, taking in the sensation with renewed venom. How grotesque they were, how definite.

 _How could you be so-_ Her fingers curled in, nails clawing at the ruined skin. But however slight, she welcomed the pain for the distraction it allowed her. She sucked in a long breath, shoving the hatred back into the dark chambers of her heart where it belonged.

"What were you thinking?" She muttered to herself, pushing the sleeves of the dress down her shoulders and stepping out of the skirt as quickly as she could manage. She stumbled back into the corner of the dressing room, glaring down at it as if it would move of its own accord.

 _You were never meant for such niceties._ The bitter voice cooed. Bryn didn't bother to push it away. How could she? Not when it was so right.

With a labored sigh, her shoulders fell as a familiar weight churned in her chest. Quietly she gathered her clothes into her arms and began to pull them on. Once her sundress was fit again, she reached for the shawl, pulling it around her and carefully assuring that her back and shoulders were completely covered. Once she was satisfied, she gripped each end in both hands and tied a large knot to keep it in place.

Swallowing hard she placed a hand on the velvet curtain leading back out into the shop. She thought of Mor and realized she had not caught a glimpse of her face. A stab of apprehension shot through her.

_How can I go back out there?_

She glanced once more at the dress, crumpled on the floor. It felt silly, to place so much meaning into a pile of fabric. But Bryn couldn't bear to be so near to it any longer.

_What choice do I have?_

Steeling herself, she pulled the curtain open and stepped outside, molding her face into a familiar mask of passivity.

* * *

Mor stepped away from the dressing room and hurried back into the shop proper. Her ears were ringing as she clutched the now forgotten dress in her arm. Her eyes darted across the length of the store, searching for Azriel. She found him, lounging on a bench by the door. He was obviously bored, but dutifully waiting for their game to end. As she suspected, the shadows that drifted silently around the bench he sat on stiffened the moment they sensed her presence. Not a second later, Azriel stiffened too, his soldiers instincts never wavering. His amber eyes, sharp and questioning, swung to Mor. Even though she was expecting it, she still didn't manage to morph her face into something less ghastly. She swallowed hard, her own metallic eyes swimming as she deftly handed off the dress to the waiting attendant and made straight for the doorway that led out of the shop. Azriel followed behind her, a shadow wreathed in shadows. Luckily, Feyre and Elain were still occupying dressing rooms of their own.

With a sharp intake of breath, Mor crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Her nails dug into her arms as she tried to gather her thoughts. They were impossibly scattered, and any attempt to ground them up was interrupted by visions of what she had seen.

_She was practically littered with them. Scars all over her back. All. Over. Like she had been-oh, I can't even think about...what could have possibly-?!_

Mor felt dizzy, flushed, angry at herself for being so casual so quickly and allowing it to happen.

"Mor," Azriel's voice was, as usual, maddeningly calm and soft. "Are you alri-?"

"Why is she here, Azriel?" Mor said finally. She bit down on her lip, trying to keep her questioning to a minimum, but the trail that followed the first was too strong to contain. "What...what happened to her?"

Azriel was quiet. His shadows darkened, as did his face. Mor looked away. The intensity of his gaze was never something she had grown used to; even after all these years.

"She..." Azriel started, his voice a glacier. Terrifyingly cold and impenetrable. "I - What happened?"

There wasn't a question in his words, only a gentle confrontation. Gentle in sound perhaps, but Mor could sense the heat in his eyes.

"I-" Mor stumbled, cheeks turning scarlet. "I didn't mean to, I mean, of course I didn't but when I opened the curtain. I-I saw…"

She couldn't put it into words. It was too horrible to say. Mor spotted a bench across the walkway and moved for it. Her knees felt shaky. She had to sit. Her kneed bobbed up and down as she tried to find the words to explain herself.

After a moment, Azriel crossed as well and lowered himself down next to her.

Mor shuddered and looked to Azriel, bracing herself. "I didn't mean to-"

Azriel sighed, his shoulders dipping under some invisible weight. "I know."

Mor didn't know what else to say. _This is exactly what he didn't want_. She thought, cursing herself. _Me. Us. Any of us, getting too friendly too quickly._

They sat in silence for a moment, watching patrons drift by. Watching the shadows move in the store. As the minutes dragged on, Azriel lifted his hand and placed it over Mor's, squeezing it gently. Mor's heart started and she looked towards him questioningly. The smallest of smiles, the ones he, for centuries, reserved only for her, sparked across his face.

"I'm sorry." Mor said, her remorse deepening.

"Don't be." Azriel said, "I should have been...more candid with you."

"No," More said, "Don't make excuses for me. I just, I got comfortable and-"

"I know." Azriel said. "It's why I wanted her to meet you first. I knew that you would be...well, you. I thought you had the best chance of putting her at ease. It worked for me, after all."

 _For Azriel._ Mor thought, her eyes drifting towards his hand over hers. To the scars he bore.

_It worked for me after all._

"Azriel," Mor continued. "What...what happened? To Bryn."

Azriel's grip grew stronger. Not out of anger, but out of need. Mor could feel him trembling, his shadows going cold.

"It-" He started. "It isn't for me to say."

Mor swallowed, she knew (more than most) how difficult it was for Azriel to express himself when his emotions rang so strong. "But she wasn't safe, was she?"

Azriel inhaled. Mor turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his and squeezing back.

"No." He said finally, unable to hide the venom from his tongue. "To put it lightly."

"Does Rhys know?" She asked quietly. "Why she's here."

"Yes." Azriel said. "When you were with her, I went to see him and explain."

"And Cassian?"

Azriel sighed, "By sheer will...of course."

Mor grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"But no one else."

Azriel shook his head. "No one else."

Mor straightened, letting her hands fall loosely in her lap.

"Why me?" She asked. "After I just royally screwed-"

"The same reason Rhysand wanted you to meet Feyre before the rest of us." Azriel said, simply.

"That wasn't-" Mor said, shaking her head. "I just happened to be there and I was nosy enough to intrude."

"We both know that's not true." Azriel said. "I've always known you were the best of us Mor. Rhysand wanted Feyre to meet someone who truly represented the heart and soul of Velaris. I wanted the same for Bryn.

Mor turned to Azriel, her eyes wide. _Does that mean he...?_

"She's been through a lot," Azriel continued, uncharacteristically clueless of Mor's questioning eye. "Like Feyre, I thought if anyone could make her feel comfortable, it would be you."

"You saved her." Mor said. It wasn't a question. Not to her at least.

Azriel went stiff again, his siphons gleaming. He hunched over, shaking his head. "I didn't...I failed her."

Mor's hand went to his shoulder. "Azriel..."

"Letting her stay here with me." He said. "It's the least I can do."

Mor sighed. She recognized that voice. She had known Azriel long enough to know what was coming. She stood up and offered him her hand.

"We can talk about it later." She said. "For now, I hope I can salvage the rest of the day."

Azriel looked up, shadows swirling around him. After a moment he accepted her hand. Mor drew him up and into a hug.

"Whatever happened," She said softly into his ear. "I'm glad you found her. I'm glad you were there for her."

Azriel felt his heart swell. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. His eyes fell shut and he thought about how fortunate he was to have Mor in his life still. Always and forever.

* * *

 _Just tell her it's okay._ Bryn thought to herself. _...Somehow._

Bryn shuffled sheepishly into the storefront, motioning with her hands as she did, trying to practice what it was she could sign in hopes of placating Mor.

 _It was an accident._ Bryn told herself. _Of course it was. If she can just forget-_

It seemed like a foolish thing to hope for. No one ever forgot. Bryn's heart sunk as she thought about it. Mor would be different now, just as Azriel was different. There was no going back.

 _Just when I thought things were going well._ Bryn sighed, looking around the store but finding no sign of Mor.

 _Or Azriel._ Bryn thought, her stomach turning over.

After another moment of helpless searching she caught sight of Mor's golden hair outside, through the window. Sitting next to her, clearly in the midst of a deep conversation was Azriel.

Bryn stepped up to a tall rack of garments and positioned herself just behind it, never taking her eyes off them.

 _They're talking about me._ She thought grimly. _They must be._

Bryn wished desperately that she could read lips, but they were far enough away that even if she could she wasn't certain she could see them clearly enough to do the job justice.

"They're sweet," came a soft voice from behind her. Bryn turned to see Feyre's sister, Elain, at her side.

"...aren't they?" the older Archeron sister finished. The fuschia dress was looped over her arm and she wore a sweet, easy smile.

Bryn looked back and Mor and Azriel. His hand fell over hers and she leaned closer to him. Bryn shot a questioning glance back to Elain.

Elain nodded wistfully. "From what I've heard, they're meant to be. Nuala and Cerridwen once told me that Azriel has loved Mor for centuries."

Bryn went pale, all the color of her embarrassment draining from her face.

 _Azriel? And Mor?_ Bryn thought, Elain's words echoing in her head. _In love...for centuries?_

Bryn watched Mor stand, locks of golden hair falling over her shoulders as she offered her hand to Azriel. He took it and she pulled him into a hug. Bryn watched, stone still as Azriel reciprocated, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

Bryn spun around, instinct begging her to look away. The tendons in her chest grew impossibly tight, her heart felt as though it had been struck by lightening. She struggled to breathe.

_All this time...Azriel has been in love with Mor?_


End file.
